#the far right are usually just quiet about it out of shame. idk it just upsets me

[alddente]

So I think. What’s really popular right now, is fetishizing trans women under the guise of trans rights. I see it on pretty much every social media site. And a lot of trans women are falling victim to it since a lot of trans people have been told directly and indirectly after coming out, that people will not want to date you and they will not find you attractive. So I think a lot of these trans women are just taking what they can get, even if it’s fetishization at best.

[moochalove]

Bestest of Friends!(NSFW)

(pervert!Ayato x gullible!fem!reader)

Unfortunately I couldn’t form a single thought for part 3 of my Kazuha x Reader x Scara fic (i’m still cooking it up though so dw pookies☝️)

Iwhipped up this fic in a couple of hours…. I wanted to do more but it’s already so long!!

Anyways😋 ik i said gullible!reader but if you’re also perverted this can be seen as a reader who doesn’t stop his advances!

Not proofread!!

Word count: idk i should really check though! 🗣️

Being a friend of the Yashiro commissioner was something you hadn’t ever imagined. The Kamisato family was pristine, cunning, witty, and decisive. Their looks? You can’t even form the right words to describe them… Both of them are like porcelain dolls dressed in the finest silk clothing in all the land (although still below Her Excellency)

Sure, you were also pretty, but when you stand next to your good buddy Ayato, you just look like his helper… There have been times when you’ve been mistaken as his personal helper. Luckily Thoma was there to sort things out.

Ayato had approached you first. You had been smelling the flowers outside Komore tea house. The way you leaned over to smell the native bloom, with a delightful smile you pulled away from the flowers and accidentally bumped into the taller man’s chest.

Before you realized who it was you quickly apologized and tried running off. You did your best to avoid any social interaction, it always seemed like it caused more harm than good. (At least as the end result)

Something about you immediately grabbed Ayato’s attention, could it have been your silky/thick/bouncy/curly hair locks? The way your skin looked so soft (despite any texture it may have) oh, how he wished to caress it gently. He doesn’t even know your name and he’s already so far in love with you.

His purple-hued eyes watch your figure run further away, he should run after you but he’s still trying to process your enchanting body that has put him under a spell. It would be a shame if he were to let you go right now, sure, he can find you with the snap of his fingers, but he wants your official meeting to be something you’ll remember.

If only you knew that you had a practical prince running through the streets of Inazuma, knowing that would make drop to the ground out of shock, maybe even fear? Surely if someone so important were looking for you it’d mean you’ve done something wrong? The only thing Ayato would accuse you of being guilty of is being so pretty. (You guys have been in each other’s presence for about 45 seconds)

When he finally finds you you’re sitting on a bench, trembling and fidgeting with your hands. Perhaps you realized who he was and now you’re going through the motions of it all.

You immediately notice him and shoot up then offering up your seat. Oh how nice you were, your kindness knows no bounds, and surely goes the same for your love! Instead, he lets out a simple yet endearing laugh, “You offer me a seat despite it being rightfully yours, why so?” You’re fumbling with your outfit, avoiding eye contact, surely if you stay quiet he’ll leave you alone.

“Conversations usually involve two people, you know? Ah, perhaps it’s because of my status you’re hesitant to speak with me.”

Letting out a squeak you motion your hands in the hair before deciding to finally speak up. “I-I’m sorry. I just want sure if you were talking to me..”

Even the way he sits down is elegant and simple, “Who else would I be talking to? It seems you aren’t the most attentive person, hmmm I’ll make note of that..” He motions for you to sit next to him.

“I’m sorry I’m just not the most talkative person…” “Of course, anyone could notice that from a mile away.” he’s so blatant even he realizes he’s being insensitive by the way you curl in on yourself. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to be so rude. Let’s start over, I am Kamisato Ayato, although, like many Inazumans, I’m sure you already knew that.”

“I am L/n, L/n Y/n, It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kamisato.” It would be an understatement to say you were nervous but you were nervous! What if you came off as rude or impolite? You’re not well-versed in all formalities.

His eyes never leave your e/c irises, the way his eyes devoured you should’ve set off a few alarms in your mind but they all seem to be mute.

“No need for the formalities, Y/n. I was actually hoping to converse with your normally, you know, like friends! I do hope you would be okay with becoming friends, hm?”

Every time someone had reached out to be your friend it always ended up with you crying alone. You’re not sure why people picked on you but you also couldn’t bear to fathom the idea of being alone forever. People are just misunderstood! If no one understands them then they’ll be all alone! That’s why you feel the need to accept anyone in your heart with open arms. No one should hurt like you have, so you just need to keep looking on the bright side of things! Eventually, it will get better, right?

Ayato isn’t dumb, he’s got a sharp-keen eye and he’s already picked up a few things about you! Isn’t that so romantic? He’s already making a list in his head about flowers that would surely embrace your sense of smell. Flowers that would adorn your h/c locks. Ah, that’s beside the point…The point is, you’re very gullible! And there’s nothing he loves more than an exploitable person. Especially one as cute/handsome as you!

The way he laces his voice with a subtle hint of yearning, the way he tilts his head innocently, even the way he quirks his eyebrow with a gentle smile plastered on his face… Were all calculated in his fucked up mind! Even if it’s all for show, he knows you’ve already made up your mind.

You’re quick to agree so, eyes sparkling with joy, admiration, and yearning. Compared to his cheap fraudulent smile; yours is genuine, an adoring yet pathetic smile.

He leans in for a hug but you back away, “Ah, my apologies. I hadn’t considered if you enjoyed physical contact. Please, forgive me.” Oh, he knew what he was doing. The way he feigned innocence in his voice made you feel guilty. At that time you weren’t too open to physical contact but had you considered how he was doing? Being in such a high position must be on another plane of stress. Before he fully pulled away from you, you leaned in and wrapped your arms under his. It was a little awkward at first for you but he seemed to melt into you and embrace you affectionately.

You guys would meet up every week at the Komore tea house, talking about your lives and discussing plans about things you wanted to do currently and in the future. Ayato would have never guessed someone like you would want to leave your homeland for another nation. The way you talked about the nation of wind so joyfully, or how you thought about wanting to potentially open your own shop in Liyue, maybe even embrace the life of a scholar once again in Sumeru, the idea of learning the arts which Fontaine had to offer didn’t sound too bad either, although the world is a dangerous place so why not train in Nathan for a couple of years, ah, but the idea of falling in love in the snow-filled capital of Snezhnaya also seem to captivate your blissfully troubled mind.

Ayato did not like those ideas one bit. He would rather drop dead or be publicly humiliated if it meant for you to stay by his side for eternity. The way you showed signs of maturity angered him just a little. He wanted you to stay “young” and innocent like a little toy doll he could control, yet here you were, getting help from professionals, forming healthy relationships and habits, you even had someone to call your lover, he can’t be bothered to remember their name right now but he knows for sure you deserve someone better (he’s referring to himself.)

His hugs have gotten tighter, and the way he wraps his toned arms around your waist doesn’t seem to drive a reaction out of you, or at least a voiced reaction.

He wants to go further.

The way his hand possessively tangles itself onto yours, interlocking his slim fingers to yours, comparing hand sizes, and the way he cups his face with your hand while placing a kiss onto the side of it does seem to get a reaction out of you. “Um… You good, Ayato?” “Of course my dear, ah, my apologies Y/n if I’ve offended you. I just assumed I was allowed to do this since we are friends.” He says all while smiling into your palm.

“Haha, of course, it just caught me off guard is all!” you’re no better, the way you cup his face with your other hand before rubbing his face like a dog. “Although, Dear, I would advise against you telling anyone about this. It’s something that stays between good friends, understand?” All too entranced by how soft and smooth his skin is you agree.

Over the span of a couple of weeks, the touches have gotten worse, he’s touching places that only lovers should touch. When he comes in for hugs he’s groping the plump of your ass and feeling up and down your hips. Or when he leans in from behind to hug you, he’s wrapping his arms around you possessively and gently nipping at your neck. At first, you seemed a little concerned but your good buddy Ayato reminds you that it’s what friends do! Just don’t go around doing it to your other friends because you can only do this with very special friends. (Such as himself)

It was all part of his plan to break and rebuild you the way he likes. Breaking you was all too easy, all it took was for him to truthfully admit how much he adores his sister and his butler/friend Thoma. You broke down into a sobbing mess admitting how you longed for a relationship like that, longing for someone to treat you nicely, that aching pain in your heart you wished would go away. And it did when he hugged you and whispered positive affirmations into your ear, when he wiped your tears and snot away with his silk robes that definitely cost more than you, it relit your shrunken burnt out heart, it was now burning brightly again, with nothing but admiration for the prince who swept you off your feet and brought you to safety. Or at least that’s how you saw it.

Rebuilding you was currently in the works, he needed you to be whipped and ready to accept whatever passed through his throat as the truth and nothing more. Even if you’ve matured a little that doesn’t mean he can break through your now rough and tough exterior, the inside still raw and soft; gullible. The thought that you might shun him and realize his toxic behavior was more stress-inducing than all his work combined. He didn’t want you to throw him away! Only he was allowed to do that. If you were to get boring he could throw you away and leave you broken just as he found you, and he would be okay with it. But he loved you too much to even dwell on the thought even more than he has.

It was supposed to be a fun dinner party with everyone, and you’re lover too, but when he saw you adorning an apron with some excessive whipped cream your lover had booped on your face he couldn’t control himself. His mind plagued him with perverted thoughts, immediately he stated that you both had some things to catch up on and that the others should set the kotatsu with the proper cutlery.

As per usual, he greets you with a hug. The only difference is that it’s from behind and he’s trying his best to be the romantic man he is at heart and is currently helping you whip the thick cream that would complement the cake you had prepared. His hand is much stronger than yours, making it easy to stir and flip the cream, his other hand is mounted on yours against the side of the bowl. Nothing is said…

You can feel something hard poking into your rear but you ignore it, maybe it was his belt.

Ayato’s breathing is starting to labor, he’s bucking his hips ever so slightly against you. You turn around to say something but he simply leans in to kiss you. His hands have long abandoned stirring, instead holding your wrists with a single hand while the other fondles/caresses your chest. He’s guiding you to the island in the center of the kitchen before he’s bending you over. Bulge rubbing between your clothed sex was an amazing experience, the bundle of nerves was being stimulated pleasantly, and your hole was squeezing tightly against nothing. Based on the wet spot forming on your bottoms he can tell you’re bound to come undone soon. Hands wrapped around your throat with slight pressure applied has you turned on even more, everything feels hot and heavy down there, and you can hear a subtle slick noise coming from below, ah how embarrassing! You’re even more pathetic when he abruptly stops, whimpering and grinding your ass against him, trying to create even more friction, “W-why’d you stop?” His grip tightens before he whispers in your ear, “They’re near, let’s pretend to have a nice normal conversation, after all, it’s been a while since we’ve last caught up, hm?” he releases his grip from your throat, hands moving around your hips before he’s rutting against your sex again at a faster speed.

“So, Y/n, how has life been treating you? I hear you’ve made some new friends!” the longer you don’t respond he’s gripping bruises into your hips, “A-ah- I’ve been well! It’s true I’ve been- oh my- I’ve been making new friends! I wish I could’ve invited them today but-“you're covering your mouth with your hands, eyes rolling up from the pleasure as the fat on your chest bounces with every thrust. “B-but I know how jealous you get when I’m not paying- paying attention to you! Haahh.. So maybe next time y-yeah?” the ‘yeah’ was a little high-pitched but nobody would really notice unless they were right there at the door. “Oh yes, you know how possessive I can be,” emphasizing the word he can tell you’re about ready to reach your peak, his pants have long since dropped and his thick length is poking through his boxers, rubbing up against your wet folds and clit he can feel through those annoying pants of yours. He wished to rip them off then and there but he surely didn’t want to embarrass you by having you walk the walk of shame to the bathroom with ripped pants and a dripping wet cunt in front of everyone.

So he opted to give you your present early, it would have been so satisfying to gift you a beautiful silk kimono (in your favorite color) in front of your lover. Oh, how he wanted you to embrace him tightly in front of everyone exclaiming ‘thank you’ over and over again, something that he would definitely savor for his private time.

“I actually got you something, Dear!“ You’re not sure how he was able to easily flip you over and have your back pressed against the island but you’re too busy taking shallow breaths to even say anything. Stretching his limbs over you to reach for a plain-looking box, he pulls said kimono out and unfolds it from its once neatly folded state. “Isn’t it beautiful? I had it tailored to your body so it should fit like a glove. I won’t stress you the details but it’s worth a lot so please, cherish it.” once he finishes speaking his tip is rubbing circles into your hot clit, he’s smacking it with his fat pink tip, chasing his own high while he fists the thick base of his cock. Your high hits you hard and you squeal ‘thank you’ over and over again with the occasional ‘it’s so so pretty’ and ‘I’ll cherish it forever’ You’re loud enough for everyone to hear and that thought alone has him cumming onto your clothed cunt. Since he’s feeling so happy about it all he hasn’t stopped rubbing against you, which causes you to be overstimulated and for him to rip another orgasm from you. “C-cumming-“ is all he can muster up as he leans into you. His cock spasms as he pumps it, his cum spills onto your wet overstimulated cunt.

It takes him a moment to regain his composure as he slowly pulls away and clean himself up. Tears threaten to spill from your eyes but he’s kissing them away whispering, “Let’s get you changed, you’re going to look stunning for them all.” All you can do is hum okay in response as he starts to undress you. Pulling something else out of the box it’s a beautiful lingerie set, in fact, the one you’ve been thinking about buying for a while now… Not dwelling too much on the thought you kiss the mole beneath his soft lips in reciprocation. Ayato isn’t too vocal but when you kiss him there he can’t help but whine as he leans back into you, “Dear, I wouldn’t recommend doing that, or at least not until we’re in my quarters~” you stifle a giggle, “Okay, okay, just help me get dressed!”

When you slide the door open everyone is shocked and amazed at how stunning you look. You no longer look like a personal helper! Maybe not an equivalent to the siblings yet, but you’re getting there! Your lover is quite enthralled with your look but is also as bitter because they were planning on buying you that. Ayato notices their expression and huffs his chest pridefully.

The dinner goes well and everyone is happily content with all the food and desserts! Occasionally Ayato will glance at you or place his hand on your thigh but nobody knows.

After all, it’s what friends do! Right?

[mylittlesyn]

Hi this is Cel sending in a submission for your event, you can tag @dearestgojo when you post.

Pronouns she/ her and the JJK fandom whatever gender. My big three are Virgo, Aries, and Scorpio.

about myself...I'm usually quiet and reserved, I don't talk much but once I get really comfortable I can be loud and probably a bit annoying. I like to read, I used to read a lot of books but haven't picked up one recently, and I hope from one hobby to the next very quickly cause I get frustrated when I don't do things the right way immediately. I think writing and reading are the hobbies I've stuck with the longest.

a dream I have...I haven't had one in a while...mmh Idk I just want to feel content with life, not work, and live the rest of my life as someone's housewife. Maybe work on an actual novel and get published, idk.

My perfect date would be going to a library and getting to buy as many books as I want, or going around el jardin with some ice cream in my parent's hometown.

My favorite relationship trope is an extrovert guy and shy girl. and going off that I'm definitely lean more sub. Kinks I have...size kink, breeding kink, spit kink, and oral fixation are some of that I can think of right now.

Your matchup is:

Honestly, I know Gojo is your fave but I just see Gojo as too boisterous for what you like and who you are based on what you wrote to me. I think Geto would be a good fit. He's got all of Gojo's smooth moves and then some, all the confidence too.

I can see you meeting him on a night where you're forced to go out to a bar with a friend. You're a little out of your comfort zone, but there's a man with white hair you've been eyeing.

He approaches you, starts flirting with you. He's blunt and cocky and smug. You'd swear he'd come off as annoying if he wasn't so attractive. He makes you laugh though so you continue to entertain him.

Then suddenly another man comes placing his arm around the white haired man. He's smooth, simply introducing himself.

He's confident in the way he carries himself. He's not bragging or even humble bragging, he wants to know about you. Something unlike the man you were just flirting with.

It comes off like he's just being a good wingman. He winks at you... Surely that's just him trying to get you into his friend... Right?

Suddenly you're talking about books with this mysterious black haired man, something the white haired man is a bit lost on.

It wasn't that he wasn't smart, but you could tell reading wasn't his forté. Now suddenly the man with the black long hair that was down has a hair tie between his teeth and is tying his hair in a bun.

It's hot in the stuffy bar, so he asks if you want to step outside to keep talking.

You follow suit, the white haired man left pouting at the bar as the man with black hair pays for all the drinks so far.

That night you go home with him, he degrades you and praises you all in the same sentence.

Phrases like "Such a good pretty slut for me with the way you bounce on my cock." While his fingers are holding your jaw and his thumb on your tongue, before he spits in your mouth.

You leave the next morning, cursing your friend for convincing you basically to do "a walk of shame" (WHICH IS BULLSHIT YOU GET IT GIRL)

But somehow you end up with a few texts the next morning...

You had given your number to the white haired man, but now you have a few texts from 'Geto'.

He sweet talked you so well and you never imagined he'd actually text you back... The rest is history.

Down the line I see you as that stay at home mom, dabbling with writing which he always encourages you to do. You have three kids, live a humble life where he trains foreigners in martial arts in the city while you both live just out of it.

Trust me he'd be a very doting husband.

[verdanabdit]

I was asked about my favorite romance tropes. Somehow, I feel like I failed the assignment.

For various flavors of Fontcest:

First Love / S☆xual Awakening - The first time either of them become interested in love or s☆x, it's their brother that they notice first.

Friendship as Courtship? - Does that apply? Smoothly going from platonic to romantic without needing to talk about it, as if that's just the natural progression of things for them.

Hanahaki / Soulmate - Anything with physically tangible signs of love that they have to try to hide.

Battle Couple - They're in perfect sync and work much better together than alone. They excel far more in 2v2 than either would alone in 1v1.

For Fellcest specifically:

Fighting turned Confession - Screaming matches that get so carried away that oopsie-doodle, biggest secret is now out. Screaming ⇒ A bunch of mean stuff gets said ⇒ Emotion escalates ⇒ Grinds to a halt with an accidental love confession ⇒ Big important emotions ⇒ End up cuddling on the floor, all cried out, apologizing for the meaner stuff they said earlier. A very nice end to emotional constipation.

In general (some can also apply to Fontcest flavors):

"If it's you, it's okay"

Mutual Pining / Can't Spit it out

Hurt/Comfort

Road Trip!!! - Fall in love DURING the road trip!!

Oblivious to Love - A has been actively courting B, but B is so focused on the likelyhood of their feelings being one-sided that they don't see it as romantic until they've got a tongue down their throat.

Slow Burn - Only if they manage to keep the relationship interesting from start to finish. Too many wait to even introduce the two characters until like... 30k words in. And conversely, some seem to think anything above 1k words can be Slow Burn??? Haha no

Good People Have Good S☆x - Nobody was emotionally, romantically, or s☆xually satisfying until this relationship. They fit together just right in all ways.

Age Gap - Best kind is when the initial goal of the older party is to help build the downtrodden younger party up so they can stand on their own and succeed without help from then on. They enter with the purest of intentions and feel immense shame for their inappropriate feelings.

Florence Nightingale Effect (Civillian)

Bodyguard Crush - Any combination of genders, but I especially love female bodyguards and male charges, usually where the charge is a scientist of some kind.

Jealous exhibitionism? - Idk the name for it. A gets irritated that C is coming on to B and initiates some form of affectionate display in front of C with the express intent of making C sad or uncomfortable. Bonus points if B is happy to receive that affection under those circumstances. (As simple as a kiss, or as drastic as full on s☆x.)

Whatever it is where a loud arrogant character gets their haughtiness continually doused by their outwardly quiet partner, whether it's through being physically bested, overwhelmed by sudden displays of affection, or d☆minated during s☆x. (I like this a lot, but I can't stand it for any flavor of fontcest...)

Death and the Maiden

[shijiujun]

on the danmei twitter fight

okay guys i didn’t wanna say anything about this and yes it’s that hot danmei twitter translations saga thing that’s going on, because honestly i feel like there’s nothing much to say but when i see dumb posts on tumblr taking about that, by people who present a misleading hot take and their friends or moots run off with it without even knowing what exactly is going on - it really pisses me off.

and also if you shit talk translators for not continuing their translations or locking their translations whatever - the door is that way on your right and left, but anyway here’s a rundown on what happened because i am seeing people make comments without two brain cells put together, without the slightest bit of consideration for the people who bring them translations

here’s my hot take and thesis: if you enjoy english translations made by fan translators, you don’t, in any way, no matter happens, shit talk fan translators. fan translators do this for free, and whatever their intentions are, whether genuine sharing or like some of you like to say, for clout, if you consume, and you enjoy these translations, i’m sorry, you’re not uninvolved, and you don’t get to sit on a high horse and say translators should or shouldn’t do something. you should just keep quiet, honestly, because someone else is doing you a favour, a favour that you are enjoying and taking. that’s what respect is.

i’m presenting both sides or i guess three sides of the story as objectively as i can, altho my support is still for fan translators who were just minding their own business before this blew up.

===

🔺 what happened:

so it started because one of the bigger translators in the fandom did this poll - i’m not blaming her at all, i doubt she had any intentions of shaming anyone or causing any controversy and was plain curious, but her poll asked english speaking danmei twitter how many people buy the digital, print copies of the danmei they read, and who did not. 

in my honest opinion, it’s not strange at all for her to have created that poll, considering just how much work she’s put into making sure things are accessible for the eng-speaking danmei fandom. i mean i’d be curious too, to know out of my thousands of readers, what the reading and buying behaviour is like. do yourself a favour and don’t read too much into it.

obviously in an era where a lot of people do consume content for free whether the underlying content is profit-making (like anime, donghua, manhua, manga etc.) or not (fanfiction etc.), it was unsurprising to see that the last option - the ones who consume danmei without paying a single cent, came out as the majority. i don’t think this is a surprising result at all, for all sorts of reasons that i will not get into now.

anyway, this is obviously kind of a sore point in the fandom especially for translators who want a wider audience to support their fave author’s works - i won’t get into that for now, but the issue began because other translators or fans started to criticize the majority of people who don’t pay for objectively rather affordable danmei and just consume things for free. 

and yes, i don’t deny that the argument on both sides got really heated and emotionally charged with both sides calling each other names which i believe is uncalled for, but it totally derailed the crux of the issue, which basically is that the majority of english-speaking danmei fandom - consumes danmei for free.

anyway this whole thing escalated and fan translators were brought into this for no fucking reason at all except that the people who didn’t want, or were unable to pay for the danmei they usually consume, made what i call a LOGICAL FALLACY in argument by going to the extremes, i will explain why later.

the end result is that fan translators were brought into this (most of them, the bigger ones i know at least) without even participating in the direct crossfire. and obviously, you can see why they’re hurt and decided to lock their translations. let me explain why

===

🔺 kind of like four camps:

(1) translators and fans who criticized those who consume danmei liberally but do not pay for them in any way - no merch, no digital copies, no physical copies, no audio dramas whatever

*** their arguments:

danmei is so cheap right, that technically people should be able to pay for it in one way or another, even if not all

danmei and its authors are, at the end of the day, out here to earn a living, and the industry, like any money-making industry, is a for-profit enterprise - and unlike public goods, if you cannot afford danmei, then there is no obligation for others to make it free for you (fan translators or otherwise, it wasn’t super clearly stated while this shitshow happened) when it is inherently a for-profit industry

yes, i don’t deny that some of them did call the peeps who don’t pay at all, “leeches” and other sort of names. personally, i wouldn’t go that far or even like venture there to be honest because in general, if it’s something that i’ll get punched in the face for if i called someone that in real life i tend not to do it, but i’ll leave my opinions, whatever they’re worth, for later

(2) the readers and fans of danmei who do not pay in any sort of way for them

*** their arguments:

some of them really cannot afford, even the dollar or more, to spend on danmei for several reasons: upbringing, culture, money-spending mindsets, real poverty, struggling to make ends meet etc. - some definitely more valid than others (and when i say not valid, it’s because SOME, a minority or like those few stragglers, say they cannot afford and then you see them like idk, throwing $50 on other merch on kpop and stuff - i’m just bringing up ONE example. not shaming anyone for spending more money on one aspect rather than the other, but yeah you can see why some of them, when making this same argument, are a little invalid, that’s just a small number of them tho)

if translators are blaming them for consuming free of charge, then the fault lies, at its foundation, fan translators who translate illegally, which i mean, in that definition, all of them including me 

did i mention that we were called illegal translators like you know in response to being called leeches? anyway-

(3) others translators who literally were just minding their own fucking business before some smart alec dragged them into it

i don’t think most of us had an argument. we were just quietly munching on popcorn and staying out of it and yeah, can you imagine, we provide a service, however illegal it is, for free on our own time, we don’t even check whether people support legally or not, we just... provide, and pray that those who are able to, at least support in some small way or another do so, on their own time. i mean i don’t check, most of us don’t, not the bouncers at your local club before COVID happened do, and then suddenly, to be used to derail an argument, we were called illegal translators. and that we should stop translating, and that it is our fault that there are free riders in the fandom

(4) people who offered to provide JJWXC credits to those who said they couldn’t afford it etc.

honestly i think they were just trying to help - no different than a gofundme. there’s no shame in taking a free thing that people already weren’t intending to pay for. it’s there, just take it!

===

🔺 the shitshow that led to fan translators locking their stuff up:

i would provide some actual examples in the form of screenshots but i’ve blocked most of them, and i don’t want to direct any sort of traffic to them so i guess you’ll have to take my word on it or go search on twitter yourself but-

(1) the affordability issue: i can understand the frustration at being called leeches, and some if not a majority of people, do have valid reasons for not being able to afford something or anything and end up pirating content they enjoy. hey, i am not about to crucify anyone for pirating at some point in their lives. we all have done it at some point, or for example hate disney+ and that $30 they were trying to rip off us for a subpar Mulan live action. i don’t have anything to say about that. inherently, is it wrong and illegal? yeah sure of course it is. do we call people leeches? i wouldn’t go that far.

if anyone cannot afford, cannot access for whatever reason, fine, i’m not gonna go check if jjwxc truly is banned in your country, or is your postal service so terrible that you definitely won’t be able to receive a hard copy of the book you like at affordable rates.

and if you have to pirate? go ahead. i mean it’s always been a rampant thing. the only thing fan translators and fans can do is encourage, motivate and incentivise as much as possible to get people to support legally. they can only put up REALLY COMPREHENSIVE guides as to how to access jjwxc or taobao or whatever. 

and if you still cannot afford it and pirate, honestly no one cares about the story behind it. you owe no one justification, just as how no other person is obligated to take it into consideration or understand you or empathize with you. i don’t say this in a malicious way - i do think that in general, you just do you. 

(2) the poor people don’t deserve nice things argument: honestly, this was not the point of this entire debacle, altho yes, people were rude to those who could not afford to support legally. but this is not the point of this whole thing.

main point - there are free riders who can support but choose not to because they choose to just consume it for free and if you are able to you should support

everyone going off on a tangent - you guys hate poor people / you guys are leeches

well guess what, no one wins in this argument. 

there were a lot of people saying “reading danmei is our only source of happiness, are you saying poor people who can’t access legally don’t deserve to read danmei” (this is just one example i’ve seen, there are other variations), and it wasn’t put across perhaps in the right way, but the other camp of people were saying “you’re not entitled to it for free if you cannot afford it”, which raised a lot of hackles and anti-poor yellings 

altho i do not deny that there are those who mean it maliciously, i think what everyone is trying to say is - the danmei industry, like any other profit-making industry, is looking to make profits. the people working in the industry, the authors even, are looking at numbers - traffic to jjwxc or other legal platforms, how much revenue they’re making from their live actions etc., comments, rankings, etc. i think @/hunxi-after-hours made a really succinct post on this aspect which yall should read.

it’s the same as - if you wanted to purchase a standee which costs $20 USD, but you cannot afford it = you don’t get it. there’s no way you can get this standee unless some gifts it to you for free. what the camp trying to ask people to support legally is saying, is that danmei is NOT A PUBLIC GOOD. it is a private, for-profit product. it might be intangible, but it is a PRODUCT that has a price that needs to be paid.

if you cannot afford it, you either don’t get access entirely (i’m saying this objectively and honestly from an economic standpoint). if someone gifts that standee to you for free, count yourself lucky - if someone makes a danmei accessible to you for free, COUNT YOURSELF LUCKY. you don’t have to be grateful and treat them as gods or like obey their every word, but it’s not rocket science. someone did you a favour that you accepted and consumed, show some respect. 

if you cannot afford to buy the standee - you do not go on twitter demanding that someone ensures that you have access to the standee for free. do you see how ridiculous this sounds once it’s a tangible product? and danmei novels ARE PRODUCTS. they are not FREE CONTENT. if someone cannot afford the standee, this is the equivalent of people going “we didn’t get the standee for free because poor people don’t deserve nice things”

totally missing the point. i don’t even know how it got to this. once again, i do admit that some users were unnecessarily mean, but going to the extreme of this is ridiculous. in argumentative essay writing we call this a logical fallacy:

e.g. “if you cannot pay for merchandise or danmei, it is a fact that you might not have access to it” morphing into “if we cannot pay for food, does this mean we cannot have access to it?!” - this is a slippery slope, and factors are not equivalent!!!! do they not teach people anything in school

don’t confuse fanfiction with danmei - danmei novels ARE PAID PRODUCTS unless for free chapters, just because it’s released online doesn’t mean it’s free public property, and also selected novels (did you guys know the WHOLE of SCI novel is free? about 500 chapters sorry, random, just a tidbit)

there are of course nuances right, like if anyone told me they were pirating disney+ content i’d be like yeah hey get one over those bloodsuckers, they take enough of our money and produce shit content anyway. the difference is that danmei authors, and the danmei industry itself can still be considered a nascent and not-yet matured industry, with a majority of authors if not all, depending on monetary flow, likes, comments, virality on the sites their content is hosted on, for a living, unlike hugeass MNCs trying to squeeze us dry for content that isn’t even interesting.

danmei is priced rather reasonably - and this brings me to another argument that was made, that the value of money is not the same for everyone. i don’t want to make comments on this because yes this is correct to a large extent. a $6 book might be cheap to most of us, but might be expensive to someone else. i’m not gonna comment on how cheap or whatever it is, if you gotta use your money for other things, definitely! i still maintain however, that a novel less than a dollar should be affordable to most people, a majority of people. and i definitely side eye some users who obviously have money but are just creating noise because they wanna continue free-riding

(4) the “they’re losing out on their international audience” argument: honestly, i feel like english-speaking danmei fandom gives themselves a bit too much credit. danmei has long thrived in china in its domestic market - sure the international audience is a plus to have and i’m sure the authors are grateful and flattered that people who don’t understand chinese love their content and love it a lot, but do they and their companies care about fans who basically don’t bring in money? i’m not sure (okay i’ll get to the fan translators doing illegal shit later okay i got it don’t be impatient)

and international fans are great, i don’t deny that - but when i see arguments like “oh but it’s their loss if they don’t cater or deny access to us, they get more popularity and sharing overseas”, i honestly think they don’t care as much as you think. once again, hunxi made a really good argument regarding non-sinophone audiences, but it really irks me, because this is the same as:

an instagram influencer saying they’ll give a restaurant exposure for free to their followers, if they get a free meal

it’s par for par - danmei authors wants earnings, popularity, tangible results that show that they are succeeding. this is life. if i put something out there for sale, i better be getting returns, simple economic logic. they probably don’t care that a non-paying reader is bringing them greater ‘exposure’ - once again, i mean this objectively. 

and yes if they’re thriving without the international market then why should it matter that people are pirating right? which brings me to the next point~

(5) it’s fan translators faults for so many people pirating, and fan translators are the ones doing the “illegal” work: this one is like... wow where do i unpack this and how-

firstly, we are talking about assholes who can pay but decide to free ride and not pay for danmei, and we assume that if you really cannot afford and have to pirate, no one’s saying anything as long as you don’t go around spreading how to pirate, how the hell did it get to fan translators from “you guys are anti-poor” and whatever

yes, fan translations are indeed illegal, i don’t deny that, and i also don’t deny that there are translators who translate for clout and popularity but putting these aside - here’s what i have seen from people who ran their mouths and made this argument

“if you guys care about us pirating the book so much than fan translators shouldn’t have translated in the first place” and “if you wanna come after us for reading illegally, then fan translators, you guys should go get the copyright for the book and then translate it cuz what you guys are doing is also illegal”

hooooo i’m telling ya, i am all for translators locking up their translations at this point. see how fucking hurtful that is? you eat from my hand and then now you biting at the hand that fed you the gays in love?

honestly if you’ve made this argument or supported this, you can basically go to hell. yes this is personal because what, you think fan translators don’t take out their personal time and effort and hard work to make translations accessible to you? if you’re ever consumed and read translations, don’t be a hypocrite and make this argument. you benefitted from it, now you wanna say it’s their fault? 

most translators want to share and spread the love they have for a novel right, want to show you how wonderful all these authors are, how much enjoyment u get from reading these wonderfully thought out stories of gays in love. yes we all know we are illegally translating, which is why on top of sharing we first, purchase the novels legally ourselves first, and then we try to encourage people to buy etc. and actually put their money to use. it doesn’t make it any less illegal, but we are bridging the gap between danmei and basically the english-speaking fandom, albeit illegally

we aren’t that self-important to ask for gratefulness but some respect would be nice. like i said, you read it, you consumed it, you enjoyed it, you can only access it because of illegal translators - a bit counter-intuitive to yell at these translators, who are simply telling you, if you can, please support. and none of us went “if you cannot afford, begone!”

===

🔺 some people tried to help by offering jjwxc credits so people who cannot afford as they say, can get legal access: honestly, just take it right, guess what some of these users did in response

they said the people giving away credits are trying to redeem themselves for their comments by giving away free stuff

they also said that we are trying to shame the people who cannot afford it with this handout to them, to show that they are the bigger person - the fact that they think this is a handout to them is TELLING. the people offering this is giving their money not to these readers, but to the authors! that’s the point of this exercise!!!

one of them even said “instead of trying to do these giveaways, here, there are greater world problems out there, donate instead to these causes” - love the initiative, but how did we get from being able to afford danmei and entertainment content to saving the world? i just- i cannot

===

🔺 so why i get why fan translators are locking up their translations, because wow, so hurtful:

you have no idea how many fucking assholes went “sure, lock up your translations, deal with the consequences” - ermmmm firstly, thanks for making a threat. like who the fuck do you think you are?

the consequences is... the authors still don’t get the money these free riders weren’t going to give them anyway, so no loss, and they weren’t reading on jjwxc anyway so you know, the authors don’t lose or gain any readership numbers or traffic they didn’t already have. instead, it WILL push and force people to pay for the PRODUCT. once again, it’s a product.

this works, and i’d say Word of Honor’s payment model worked marvellously for Youku, because they fucking forced everyone to pay to access content. ALL OF THEM. sure ok some people still pirated it, but how many MORE people paid on Youku, on Youku Youtube, watched on Viki etc. than if they didn’t? even english-speaking fandom were wracking their brains trying to purchase a Youku pass even if there were no subs initially - and other examples that lovely hunxi brought up in her amazing piece

and for translators?! honestly me for one, i’m glad i don’t feel pressured anymore to churn out a chapter every week since we get called names etc. most of us are glad to have a break to be honest. we’ve lost all motivation to translate because it’s a free service, at the very least we don’t expect like hate, or rudeass fuckers. for those who are doing a proof of purchase thing - go for it honestly! 

hopefully it’ll minimize the free rider problem - some people for whatever reasons really cannot buy or support legally, that’s totally cool and they don’t have to justify it, i get that. but for others making the same argument but obviously are just unwilling to pay because they can’t read chinese, think it’s too troublesome when there are guides and translators provide it for free anyway so what’s the point - we all make concessions and make decisions to grab what we like (not talking about the ppl who have their various troubles and difficulties!)

===

🔺 and those who are saying why is it the ‘rest of us suffer’ from locked translations just because of a few bad apples:

IT ISN’T ABOUT YOU. where the hell were all of ya when we were getting called illegal huh? it’s about us fan translators getting shot at for no reason, and then people still demanding things for free. i don’t see any of the people i’ve seen on tumblr complain about fan translators stopping or locking translations defend any of us in any way. instead, you’re complaining.

it is the translator’s prerogative to start, stop and end translations, unless of course the original author starts to sue i suppose. i see people on tumblr going like if they were gonna do this, they shouldn’t have started in the first place etc. - i don’t what world you live in, but when i do something for free, then get called names and am attacked or get dictated on how i should do something that’s already like free, i tend to be less generous.

i’m sorry, do us illegal and free translators owe ANY OF YOU? i wasn’t aware any of us were being paid for this hobby. readers, especially those who CAN and just refuse to support, don’t get to say SHIT. translators deal with so much shit and so many entitled readers, i say they get to lock whatever they want as long as they aren’t profiting off of this monetarily.

let me give you an example - nan chan, which is translated by lian yin, completed translations by the way for all chapters. it is all free for viewing, and she only locked up one extra and asked for proof of payment. some dumbfuck quotes that locked up extra chapter tweet and said “honestly, this turned me off reading this novel because they restricted access”.

the. fucking. entitlement. the whole of nan chan is free, that’s like what more than 80 chapters. she locked up the EXTRA and the money goes to the author, she doesn’t earn anything. AND HERE THAT BIJ is (yes, i’m going to call them names because you know, fucking asshole who didn’t bother to check) going “yeah i didn’t wanna read because 1/80+ chapters were locked”. 

AN EXTRA. LITERALLY AN EXTRA!!!!!!

at the end of the day, translators are not like DYING to translate, not like some of you are DYING to read the translations. once again, this isn’t a “BE GRATEFUL” message, it’s a please be respectful to the people who put in time and hard work for free and share the goodness ya know? what’s the use of yelling at fan translators as if we owe you anything?

================

🔴🔴🔴 TOO LONG DIDN’T READ 🔴🔴🔴

some people may need really need to pirate - and no one needs to justify why they cannot afford to purchase etc. pirating happens all the time, translators only hope that when you can, and in whatever way you can, to support legally - in general we don’t ask and we get it! we’re just annoyed that some people think that it SHOULD BE FREE, when it is a paid product, especially for those who CAN afford it

readers are not entitled to shit on translators for what they do with their translations - once again, you’re not OBLIGATED to have it. so what if i start and stop? i’m the one doing the work, i get the only say. don’t be a hypocrite and shit on translators, whose works you’ve read - it’s no loss for translators, we read and enjoy danmei just fine

yes, fan translations are illegal, but you can’t read and enjoy them like some of you have, and then turn around and point the finger at translators - a lot of us are happy to stop translating - this isn’t a threat, but at the end of the day, shitting on translators simply decreases access, and sure, some people can indeed live with you know, MTL or shitty translations from people who’ve learnt chinese for only six months or whatever, but you’re gonna be reading an entirely different book tbh

the people saying illegal translators are at fault - funnily enough, most of them consume the translations, so what the fuck? i mean we know it’s illegal, we’re trying to share the love and trying to minimize the illegalities of it by redirecting people to hopefully support legally. it’s still illegal yes, but i think it’s hypocritical for people who have read translations, stab translators in the back. and now that translators are indeed ‘restricting’ and ‘removing’ their ‘illegal translations’, yall yelling again? and threatening?

fan translators aren’t “elitist” or “classist” - just looking for some respect in a community which seems to have taken them for granted, and also looking for support for their fave authors - and honestly a lot of us were caught in the crossfires truly, don’t be an asshole and demand things from fan translators - who are you talking about? do you know why they decided to lock? do you know know what their locking system is like and what for? 

it’s not EASY to lock the translations up - it’s more admin work, it’s putting together a whitelist of people, if given the choice i’m sure translators would prefer to share everything. but not when there are assholes who have a comment on how they should translate etc. and yeah!!! calling us illegal!! i mean we are but still!!

the last straw was seeing that post on tumblr and people in the comments going like fan translators shouldn’t or should do something, without getting the whole picture, without even considering how hard it is for fan translators being caught in this situation. 

whoever puts in the work gets to decide, and everyone else should leave them alone. 

be nice to the people who really cannot afford as they say so (or just don’t think about it), be nice to the translators feeding you content, and the people who free ride and shit on translators - honestly, i’d say ready the pitchforks.

edit: i forgot to mention this is my hot take and i’ve tried to like present all the arguments i’ve seen so far. i’m definitely not doing all of it justice and i don’t claim to speak on behalf of any of them except maybe one or two- and i’ve definitely left out stuff, but anyway, lmao we’re just tiny people doing what we love. i wish we could solve you know inequality or poverty or hunger or other pressing concerns. if i was that great i wouldn’t be stuck on tumblr or twitter or have to make posts like these like a loser.

thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[supremeinlilac]

Count  (NSFW)

Pairing: Pre Apocalype!Wilhemina x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3125

Warnings: Caning, bondage, slight degradation(?), just filth I guess

A/N: This is my first time writing anything nsfw (i wrote it before mirror, mirror), so please let me know if there’s anything I can do to improve it. I’m a whore for constructive criticism :)

Tag list idk?: @extraordinarilycelestrial

Anger bubbled through your body as you trampled through the gate at the front of the house you shared with Mina. The porch lights were on, meaning she was already home, despite having left work about an hour after you to catch up with work in the quiet of her office . Jeff and Mutt had been at you all day, chipping away at your patience as you tried your hardest to ignore their stares and inappropriate comments and complete the report you were currently working on.

They had continued even after your polite remark insinuating that you had a lot of work starting to catch up to you, and that they had caught you at the worst possible moment. Mocking and teasing “oooooohs” followed you when you finally slammed your hands firmly onto your desks and asked through gritted teeth that they let you be.

Usually you would relax with Wilhemina over lunch and bitch to her about them and their intolerable attitudes, but today she had been extremely busy as well and kept her office door locked the whole day, much to your disappointment. You found your lunch with a hastily scribbled note that read: when your periods finished, I’ll help relieve that tension you have going on,, J which you scrunched up and tossed in the general direction of the bin, huffing and clenching your jaw to stop yourself from marching over to where the pair of them were sat, mouths set in smug grins watching you from across the room, and slapping one of them across their faces.

To top off all that shit, your car had broken down 10 minutes away from your house on the drive back, which was a 30-minute walk back in the biting wind. Without, unsurprisingly at this point, your coat, which you’d left in the office in your haste to leave. You had no choice but to do just that as your phone decided that today would be the day it would give up on life and refuse to turn on.

Long story short, you’d had just about enough.

You dropped your keys trying to find the right one that would open the front door. You audibly exhaled in a loud impatient groan, wanting nothing more than to collapse onto your bed and lie there until the anger dissipated. Slamming the door closed behind you and throwing your bag down beside the coat rack, you ran your fingers through your hair before stomping up the stairs, ignoring the call Wilhemina gave you from the kitchen.

Flopping down on the bed, you released a long yell that was muffled by the pillows your face was buried in. Still feeling anger after the first yell fell short, you allowed yourself a second scream, hands in your hair now, bunching at the scalp, so unbelievably pissed off that you failed to notice the door click softly closed behind you.

“And just what do you think you are doing?” her voice cut through the silence which now hung in the bedroom, making you jump but remain in the same position, now sulking at your unfortune of the past 8 hours. “Where have you been?” she spoke again, ignoring your lack of response at her first question. Her fingers drummed impatiently on her cane, which was clutched tightly between her two hands; her lips drawn tightly together as she rigidly stood and observed you on the bed.

You decided in that moment that you needed something to take your mind off the day you’d just had, so you clenched your jaw shut and closed your eyes, smirking into the pillow. You knew what you were doing to the older woman stood by the door, but you were in one of your moods, and feeling far to stubborn to give her the satisfaction of your submission.

Wilhemina’s eyes narrowed as she slowly advanced towards the bed, cane tapping threateningly. “Don’t you dare be bratty with me Y/N, don’t think I won’t punish you simply because you’ve had a bad day. Now I’ll give you one more chance to tell me what has got you so annoyed”. You slowly turned around from your position on the bed, a heat settling in your stomach at her tone as you faced her, legs crossed and an innocent smile on your face as you remained silent.

She didn’t even give you time to be surprised, a single yelp escaping your mouth as she lurched forward, gripping your jaw in her hand bruisingly and forcing your head up to look at her. She wore a smirk that made the heat fall straight to your centre, making you overly aware of the throbbing now between your legs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you pet” her thumb brushed your lower lip and you eagerly took it into your mouth, suckling on it and watching her eyes with your own. Removing it, she wiped it off on your cheek before tutting loudly, “take your clothes off; leave your panties on”.

Your brattiness now long forgotten, you scrambled off the bed in your haste to please the woman before you. The incessant tapping of her cane spurred on your actions, clothes discarded as you stumbled around before standing patiently beside her, arms by your side, the cold of the room prickling your skin as you shivered under her gaze.

She leisurely walked around your fidgeting form, nails dragging across the skin of shoulder behind her before she stopped behind you. You fought the urge to turn to face her, feeling her breath lingering on your shoulder. She deliberately smoothed her flat palms up and down your arms, chuckling at the involuntary reaction your body has at her touch. Leaning forwards and bringing your earlobe between her teeth, she pulled slightly and you couldn’t help the soft moan that left your lips at her action.

As soon as her touch came, it was gone. “Bend over the edge of the bed, hands behind your back.” She commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument on your part, as you did as she requested, sinking to your knees and lowering your torso onto the bed, your bottom up in the air. You felt something smooth and cold slip round your wrists, a ribbon most likely, and restrain your wrists tightly together. Her movements paused, allowing you to test the bonds which failed to give when you tried to escape them.

“Is that okay babygirl?” she checked, stroking your cheek lovingly waiting for your response. When you gave her the go ahead, nodding and letting out a breathy “yes”, she allowed herself to slip back into dominance. Pacing back and forth, she allowed you to suffer in the anticipation for a while, until you whimpered and fidgeted where you lay. “I’m going to give you 10 spanks” she paused, her smirk growing watching you tense, “with my cane. And you’re going to count for me.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and slight fear; she’s never used her cane on you before, only ever using it as a threat when you were pushing your luck and being too bratty for her liking. You couldn’t lie, the thought had also aroused you to no end, being punished with the very thing she relied on so heavily; but you knew Mina was never soft with her punishments. “But you’ve never used the ca-” she cut you off quickly, not in the mood for any backchat now she’d made up her mind what you deserved.

“Do I need to gag you baby? Or are you going to be a good girl for me and be quiet?”

Her sweet, mocking tone made you squirm under her gaze, you shook your head against the sheets. You didn’t want to exacerbate your punishment further, not that you ever held your bratty attitude long when in her commanding presence. Mina smiled, she loved that you so quickly fell in line for her, allowing her as much of the control and power she seeked.

“No, we couldn’t have you gagged could we? Then I wouldn’t be able to hear you counting little one. You will count for me won’t you?” you whimpered, eyes finding hers over your shoulder as she closed in. “I always loose count otherwise, and I’d hate to have to start again” she drawled, the corner of her mouth twitching as she raised her chin, eyes not leaving yours.

“I’ll count” you gasped, her hands coolly massaging your shoulders, drawing out the suspense of the impending caning. She knew full well what she was doing, confident that her patience could hold out extensively, all while you would get impossibly worked up and needy.

“Good girl.” Patting your shoulder, she withdrew her hands and returned behind you, out of your line of vision.

She brought the cane down onto the skin where your thigh met the curve of your ass, your body jolting forward unexpectedly, and you gasped at the feeling, which at first felt hot, blood rushing to the site before the twinge of pain kicked in. “One” you spoke confidently, cheeks flushed as you found yourself eager for her to bring the cane down on you again.

She paused, allowing the anticipation to hang heavily in the air as she ran a single finger slowly down your spine, revelling in how your body shivered under her light touch. She waited just long enough for your guard to come down and you to let out a small breath of relief, before swinging her cane back down onto your cheeks, wood biting at the skin as you let out a yelp of surprise.

Your voice was more raspy this time, the number spoken quickly, your arms straining against their confines, aching to soothe the skin that were now hot where she had landed the strikes. After the third hit, you couldn’t help the shame that ebbed at your mind that you were involuntarily enjoying Wilhemina punishing you; almost as much as she was turned on by the power you allowed her to hold over you. The coupled feeling of both pain and pleasure sent sparks of electricity through your body, as if suddenly being lit by a flickering flame.

Four and five came down on your skin in the exact same place as the third, catching the raw line that marred the skin of your butt and eliciting a hiss from your lips. You counted, voice smaller now as you bit your lip to avoid unwarranted sounds from escaping. The sixth hit was the hardest so far, and your hips bucked backwards involuntarily, not going unnoticed by the older woman who’s eyes darkened and a smirk graced her lips. You weren’t expecting your girlfriend to use such force; or the fact that this was turning you on more than you ever thought it would. Your vision was starting to cloud at the sensation, mind hazy as you focused on the deep throb between your legs.

Her nails digging slightly into the tender flesh of your ass was the only reminder you needed, choking out a strangled “six” before returning to biting the sheets beneath your head. All you could concentrate on was the feeling of yourself trickling shamelessly down the inside of your thigh, praying to god that Mina couldn’t see how this was affecting you. “That was your last warning sweetheart” she cooed, cool palms soothing the sore flesh beneath them in slow rubs.

The final four strikes came in quick succession, Mina not even giving you time to compose yourself in between the hits. This meant you subconsciously let out a low moan at the force of her last cane strike, which was considerably harder than the rest, sending your body forward further into the bed.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you” she scoffed, and you could practically hear the smirk that adorned her features. She ran two fingers up the length of your inner thigh, collecting the juices and holding them up to the light. You bit the sheets between your teeth at her actions, suppressing a moan that threatened to bubble from your throat at her mocking tone.

At the lack of a response, Wilhemina quickly brought her open palm sharply down on your thigh, the sting pulling goosebumps up along the length of your bare back, nipples rubbing uncomfortably against the sheets as you squirmed. She fisted the hair at the nape of your neck tightly, pulling so your ear was aligned with her mouth, her hot breath tickling the shell of your ear as she spoke.

“When I ask you a question, I expect a response baby girl” she drawled, voice low and raspy, making you shiver and let out a shaky breath. “You know I don’t like disobedient little girls now do I?”. You shook your head quickly, eyes screwed shut as her voice went straight to your core, making you squirm in her grasp. She tugged again, warningly. “No god- No Ms Venable, I’ll be a good girl I promise” you spluttered out, moan catching in your throat as she relaxed her grip on your hair, bringing her hand round to your throat, squeezing experimentally.

“It’s a bit late for that- don’t you think little one?” her fingers flexed against your throat, feeling the muscles contract as you swallowed deeply at the feeling. “But since you were such a good girl and took your punishment so well for me, I think I could give you what you want”, you nodded desperately, tears in your eyes as a result of the pain and pleasure of the caning. “Please” you squeaked, no longer caring how needy you sounded to the older woman, only wanting her to give you what you wanted so badly.

Her eyes darkened with lust, pressing the slick fingers to your lips as you gladly took them in, circling them with your tongue as you moaned, the taste of your own arousal on her fingers made you physically ache for her touch, you were now too sensitive to do more than fight the urge to rub your thighs together to relieve the pressure that had built up there. She withdrew her fingers teasingly, coaxing you to turn onto your back while she hovered herself over your fidgeting body, arms either side of your head, propping herself up.

Capturing your lips in a heated kiss, her teeth nipping and pulling at your bottom lip harshly, as she allowed her fingernails to slowly rake down your stomach, red scores in their wake. A sigh left your lips as she grazed over your core, body reacting involuntarily with your hips bucking up to meet her hand.

“You’re dripping wet for me.” She drawled, voice low and dripping with arousal as she taunted you. “My little slut getting so worked up while being punished, tsk tsk tsk” she tutted as you groaned at her words, heat flooding to your core.

She trailed two fingers through your folds, collecting your arousal before slipping them into you slowly. Allowing you to adjust to her fingers inside, she kissed along the curve of your jaw, sucking a deep bruise on the underside of it, starting to pull her fingers back out of you and setting herself a quick pace that had you whimpering beneath her.

You bit you lip to quieten the breathy moans you were releasing at her fingers curling inside you with each thrust, and the feeling of Wilhemina’s hot breath on the delicate skin of your neck. “You don’t need to be quiet, little one. I want to hear your sweet little noises.”

You let your head fell back on the pillow, eyes fluttering shut as Wilhemina brought her thumb to circle your clit, adding pressure causing you to jerk up into her and let out a loud moan of pleasure. She quickened her pace inside you, adding another finger and hissing as you clenched around her fingers. “God you’re so tight” she husked in your ear, nipping at the lobe and trailing bites down to the swell of your breast.

You gasped at the feeling of her teeth grazing the hard bud of your nipple, tweaking it between her teeth. You arched your back into her touch. She sucked on your nipple, tongue swirling the bud and pulling back to blow cold air onto the sensitive skin.

She flicked again at your clit, smirking against your other breast at the way your body shivered under her, a little squeak falling from your lips, breathing becoming laboured.

“I’m gunna- oh god- Please, please can I come Mina” you moaned, feeling the familiar wave of an orgasm creeping up on you, tension knotted deep in the pit of your stomach. Her face left the swollen nipple she’d been biting and returned to hover over your face.

“Come for me baby.”

Her fingers continued to stroke against your insides as the orgasm ripped through your body, clenching around the fingers buried inside you, eliciting mewls to drip like liquid from your open lips. The waves kept intensifying as Wilhemina persisted; drawing your orgasm out for as long as she could to prolong the pleasure that rippled through your trembling body.

She let you catch your breath, still trembling beside her after the powerful orgasm she’d given you. Taking the fingers she’d withdrawn from your centre into her mouth, keeping eye contact with you as you let another moan escape your lips at the sight of her tongue circling the digits. Hand coming to curl behind your neck and bringing you towards her for a gentle kiss, allowing you to suck the lingering taste of your arousal off her tongue.

Her nails lightly scratched the skin of your scalp, prompting goosebumps to prickle over your skin despite the sheen of sweat you now wore. “Now baby girl. What are you going to do the next time you have a bad day and get all annoyed?” You whimpered, anytime she used an authoritative voice or questioned you like this making you weak with arousal.

“Answer me.”

“Not be a brat and – oh” you gasped as her hand found your throat, fingers flexing and squeezing in warning. “And tell you why I’m annoyed” you blurted out, cheeks flushed pink at the control the older woman had over your body.

“Good girl.” She patted your jaw twice, smiling, before moving to lie back against the cushions next to you. “Because you know that I can make you forget all about your bad day don’t you honey?” you nodded at her, eyes glazed over in admiration at how she could unravel you with only her words and make you forget whatever was on your mind.

“Now come here and apologise to me properly”

[asphora]

Marigolds | csc

wc: 5,569 | angst, hanahaki disease, seungcheol x reader, f!reader, non-idol!verse, cursing, character death, tw:sickness, tw:death

a/n: I’ve been in a slump and in a really bad place recently, but out of nowhere this came to me and somehow writing it made me feel better? idk. Also, I recommend listening to Yiruma’s Prelude in Gm. It’s such a beautiful piece. Anyway, thank you.

Love can often look like so many things that don’t seem like love.

The night the world stops spinning is the night you see her for the first time. You’d known of her existence long before you’d even had the misfortune of laying your eyes on her, from stories and various retellings enthusiastically recounted to you by your group of 13 male friends. Their words had made her something of a phantasmagoric collection of enchanting and enigmatic quirks and traits, something otherworldly; brave and spontaneous, fun but equally intelligent. But for all their praise, you figured their words were just that. 

Nodding along as Seungcheol prattled on about her ardently, you silently listened, finding some semblance of solace knowing that there was no person without flaws. To you, she seemed more like a Monet than anything; something beautiful to behold, but only from a distance. The closer anyone got, surely the more the cracks would start to show and for all her magic and mystery, you figured soon enough the boys, particularly Seungcheol, would soon realize the truth: that there was no such thing as magic. Only real people, with their flaws and undone seams, haphazardly strewn together.

That night the music blared in your ears, despite coming from the next room where Soonyoung was drunkenly DJing. Around you were throngs of people, a mix of strangers and friends alike, bodies danced intoxicatedly moving to the beat reverberating through the walls of the frat-house. 

When you see him, you can’t fight the smile that spreads on your lips. Your hand is already raised, ready to wave him down and wrap him in the embrace you two always shared.  You don’t know it yet, but that night is different from all the others; the beginning of the end. 

It only takes him few steps more for you to see that his hand, which is usually stuffed into his pockets, is prettily decorated by her dainty one; milky skin seemingly unmarred by the harsh yellow lighting in the crowded living room and her ring finger ornamented by a big bright rock you recalled seeing at Seungcheol’s apartment a week prior. 

Immediately your hand falls to your side and you take a step back, disappearing effortlessly into the crowd as your watchful eyes are trained on the couple. She with her red silk dress that seemed to accentuate and hug her body in the most complimentary way, and him in his usual all black ensemble that definitely did not betray the senses, showcasing his toned body through the fabric. They looked more like they belonged on the front of some expensive travel or style catalogue. 

You would have described the pair as one that stuck out like a sore thumb, but that wasn’t the case. As they waded through the waves of people—his arms wrapped gently around her, never faltering in their protective hold on her—they seemed to put everyone else to shame. It wasn’t that they didn’t belong at this party, it was that they made everyone else look like they shouldn't have been there. 

As you watch them laughing and dancing, whispering, faces always close to each other’s, you realize that she is not the mirage you had made her out to be in your head. She’s everything they said she was, and even more, she bore his heart. 

“Seungcheol!” the bellowing voices of 13 other boys pull you from your thoughts and suddenly, you go from a passive by-stander simply basking in the glow of the couple, to the forefront of all the excitement as Mingyu finds you in the crowd and pulls you by the arm to where Seungcheol and the others are standing. 

Dark chocolate irises that you’ve known all your life and have practically memorized at this point meet your own and that’s the last color you register along with the sounds of cheering and shouting of joyous congratulations, before everything becomes a blur of motion as your legs will you through the halls of the frat house you practically lived at. After that all you see is orange—bright, fiery, blazing orange. 

As you sink onto the floor of Jihoon’s bathroom, vision bleary from the pain, you press your cheek onto the tile taking whatever comfort you can from their soothing coolness. 

‘Marigolds,’ you chuckle at the irony of just how fitting it is, the sound coming out more of a garbled cough than a laugh due to the burning in your throat, 'in the language of flowers, it meant despair, grief and jealousy.'

As you shift in and out of consciousness, the alcohol in your system working too well with the pain in your chest and throat, forcing you under, you reach your hand out, fingers trying to grasp at the orange blossoms. You hadn’t even made it to the toilet. 

��Sorry Woozi,’ you think in your last moments of consciousness, ‘promise I’ll clean it later. It just hurts too much right now.’

And that’s how the said male finds you. 

Once the party is done, Jihoon retreats to his quarters only slightly tipsy since he wasn’t much of a drinker anyway like the rest of the guys. There you are, passed out in the middle of his bathroom floor, lying in what at first glance seemed to be clouds of fire.

If he hadn’t know exactly what he was looking at, he would’ve thought the sight to be beautiful, immaculate even; your  limp form swimming in a sea of marigolds, hands outstretched and gripping some of the fresh blooms in your hands, dark hair splayed out across the flowers in stark contrast to the vibrant orange beneath, and your face though tearstained was adorned with loose petals sticking to your skin. 

His bathroom had never smelled so nice, he thought despite knowing you’d vomited these flowers. Never in his life had he seen Marigolds as vibrant as these, so alive and in full bloom, as though spring had come in the middle of winter to take up residence in his bathroom; the sight would put Demeter to shame. But he knew the truth of it; this sight was anything but that of life. You were dying. 

***

“You have to get the surgery, y/n.” Jihoon sighs the words onto the skin of your forearm where there are various tubes sticking out of you, seemingly the only things keeping you somewhat alive. 

You can tell by the way he says it that he’s beyond exhausted, that these are words that he’s tired of saying, that this is a plea he and all the other 11 boys from your friend group are tired of begging you for. You don’t say anything, and your silence only makes him more irked. 

“If you aren’t going to get the surgery, at least tell him the truth,” Jihoon attempts to reason with you, “he deserves to know the truth, or even just the chance to save his best friend. You can’t avoid him forever, and you sure as hell can’t just suddenly die and leave him wondering how the fuck that happened.” 

Jihoon’s crass words make you laugh, a breathy quiet chagrin that slips from your lips sounding more like a cough than mirth. He’s so fed up with you that he doesn’t even bother to choose his words wisely, not like how he was when this all started a month ago. 

“He hasn’t even tried to visit me.” At that he rolls his eyes.

“Because you won’t let him. You won’t even let us tell him that you’re in the hospital. As far as he knows your back home with your parents getting better, not here in Seoul, in a hospital, fucking dying.”

This time, it’s your turn to roll your eyes and admonish him, albeit weaker compared to his display. “I get it Woozi, I’m dying, I don’t have much longer to live. Tell me something the doctors haven’t, I get it—”

“No, you don’t!” His booming voice suddenly cuts you off. For the first time in your long friendship with him, he raises his voice at you. 

“You don’t get it,” you watch him as he shakes his head, “you say you get it, that you know you’re dying, but you don’t. You’re acting like this is a small thing, that it’ll go away sooner or later, but it isn’t. It’s either you get the surgery or you’re dead, done, gone forever. There won’t even be anything left of you to love that oblivious, unworthy asshole you call your best friend.

“A real best friend would be more worried about you, would be here, breaking down doors and begging me and the rest of the guys to let him see you, he’d at the very least, demand to be able to visit you and not be running around having fun with his whatever-she-is while you’re dying.” 

Tears fill Jihoon’s eyes as he paces, arms angrily flailing as he rants to and at you. That’s when Wonwoo, seemingly forgotten in the corner, ever the quiet spectator and your next closest friend after Jihoon and Seungcheol, steps in to place a calming hand on Jihoon’s heaving chest. 

“Jihoon,” Wonwoo’s thick baritone pierces through the sound of Jihoon’s angry breaths, “that’s enough. Look at her, she’s crying.” 

You hadn’t realized it until Wonwoo had pointed out, but your face was hot with moisture, and your patient’s gown was soaked down the front with the tears that had run off your face. Jihoon seeing this seems to snap out of his trance, his stance relaxing and his eyes growing soft. 

“Sorry, y/n, I-I didn’t mean, I—”

“It’s okay Jihoonie,” you hadn’t used that nickname in a long time, not since Seungcheol had practically thrown a fit, banning you from calling any of the others by cute nicknames, “it’s okay, don’t be sorry, I get it.” 

Giving him and Wonwoo the warmest smile you can muster in your weakened state, you open your arms out for them, their strong sturdy forms quick to bend to fill the tiny space of your arms, wrapping your frail form in their own warmth. 

“Don’t worry,” you whisper the words onto the tops of their heads, petting the hair there, “I get it, I do. You don’t have to be sorry. I’m scared too.” 

The admission of your own fear wracks a brand-new sob through your chest that you hadn’t known you were holding back, and immediately you’re crying a fresh batch of tears onto the fabric of their shirts. 

“I don’t want to die,” you wail despite the scratching of your throat as you clutch the fabric of their shirts into clenched fists, “but I can’t, I don’t want to—I can’t do it. If I get the surgery, I’ll forget, and I can’t— 

“I can’t live in a world where I don’t know Seungcheol, where I don’t know his smile or the sound of his voice and his laughter, where I don’t know that he’s a cry baby and that his favorite kind of movies are romcoms, even  though he’ll never admit it to anyone but me.

“I’m scared too, but it’s not just dying,” you sob, “what kind of life would it be if I stopped knowing him? If I couldn't even remember the only love I’ve ever known?”

***

Weeks pass in a blur of burning orange speckled with blotches of vibrant red; hospital bins filled to the brim with orange marigolds drenched in bile and blood; nurses carrying and disposing more and more beautiful bright bouquets of marigolds each passing day. 

“The marigolds are really pretty, at least.” Soonyoung absentmindedly remarks as he watches a nurse file out of the room, two trash bins in hand, brimming with freshly puked flowers. 

Seungkwan who stands beside him gives the hin a look of complete outrage, nudging Soonyoung’s side a little too harshly with his elbow, making the blonde yelp in pain. Jihoon who’s sitting at your bedside only rolls his eyes at the insensitivity, while the rest of the boys stand around awkwardly and apologetically. 

The tense sight of almost all your closest friends standing around as if they were at your funeral rather than just your hospital room only makes you laugh into the receptacle on your mouth, cursing the restraining contraption despite it being the only thing that’s managed to help you breathe throughout this whole ordeal. 

Shifting up weakly, you move to sit up in your hospital bed to get a better look at the boys.  Jihoon’s hands are quicker than your frail body though, as he tries to keep you lying down.

“C’mon, Hoonie, I’m dying, not losing my sense of humor,” you shrug his hands away and Mingyu’s takes their place to sit you up, “what Soonyoung said was funny.” 

“I’m not offended, it’s funny. I mean, they are pretty, right? It would suck if I was dying and the flowers exploding out my gut were fucking ugly as shit. Could you imagine puking roses? Ugh, how generic,” you chuckle, upping the dramatics and giving Soonyoung a wink along with a mirthful grin which he sheepishly returns. 

You glance at Seungkwan who’s trying to bite down his smile and you offer him your own wide one, “bet you never had a flower shop for a friend, huh?” And at that, the others who’d spent most of this time awkwardly standing around, the same way they did every week when they came to visit, finally let out their laughter. 

You laugh along with them as much as your lungs will allow and you shake Jihoon’s shoulder, as if the gesture will shake the frown off of his face as you whine, “C’mon, please don’t be mad, Jihoon. I’m dying, you’re not allowed to be mad at me.”

“She kinda has a point, Hyung.” Vernon, feeling more relaxed after your joke, takes a seat at the foot of your bed and shrugs at the older male.

“Dying friend trumps angry friend,” you shrug, smiling brightly at Vernon who just pets your leg affectionately. Despite his irritation, Jihoon watches the exchange and visibly softens, patting your head just as sweetly and giving you half a smile. “Whatever, you’re stupid.” 

“By the way, where’s Wonwoo?” Mingyu asks, changing the topic effectively, “isn’t he supposed to be here, too?” 

“He said he’s running late,” Jihoon checks the clock, noting that the male is never usually this late, “he said he had to pick up something before—” as if on cue, the male in question rushes through the doors of your hospital room, panting and sweaty. 

“What the heck, Woo? Did you run all the way here?” you laugh at his disheveled state, “don’t you have a car—” just as quickly as he makes it through the door, your words die on your tongue, finally seeing just what it was he had to pick up, rather who.

“Seungcheol.” The world seems to stop for a moment when your eyes meet his, and everyone in the room becomes as still as statues, the playful mood from earlier quickly dissolving into wordless tension. 

It feels like eons before someone breaks the palpable stiffness in the room, but it’s Wonwoo’s voice that slices through it and breaks the trance you and Seungcheol are locked in, “I’m sorry, y/n.” 

“What the actual fuck, Wonwoo!” This is the loudest your voice has ever managed to be since you arrived at the hospital and the strain burns your throat so much that you start coughing violently, gasping desperately for air as a fresh wave of nausea hits you and the rest of the boys can tell right away by the panicked look in your eyes. 

Vernon, who’s closest to the new trash bin is quick to grab it, placing it in front of you on your lap, while Mingyu’s hands efficiently remove the breathing receptacle from your face. Jihoon reacts like it’s his second nature to pull your hair out of your face and hold it behind you, while Wonwoo moves to your side to gently stroke your back, cooing soft encouraging whispers into your ear as bright orange starts to assault your senses, blurring your vision and filling the room with sickly sweet scent of marigolds along with the sounds of your violent retching. Soonyoung and Seokmin are quick to leave the room, saying they’ll call a nurse for an extra bin while the rest sit to the side, not even an inkling of panic on their faces. 

It all happens so fast, with such lighting precision and rehearsed accuracy that Seungcheol is sure that this isn’t the first time his closest friends have been through this. He realizes quickly that he’s the only one who hadn't known. 

Once you're done unloading your flowery guts into the bin, Minghao is already ready with a moist towelette to wipe away any dribble along your lips. Your weak gaze manages to meet Seungcheol’s confused but visibly enraged ones, but you don’t speak. Not for lack of ability to, but because there was nothing left to say. The jig was up, he knew. 

“What the fuck, y/n?” Seungcheol’s voice is booming and you almost laugh at how often you’d heard those words in the span of time you’d been in the hospital, but his next words cease any coherent thought you might have, “who is he? Tell me, y/n, who the fuck is he, I’ll kill him.”

Confused, your eyes dart from the angry eyes of the subject of your affections, to the bespectacled ones of your other best friend who was still standing beside you, hands unwaveringly rubbing gentle, soothing circles onto your back. 

“Woo?” 

“I thought you should be the one to tell him.” He explains, eyes apologetic. 

“I swear to god, y/n! Is this where you’ve been the past two months?” Seungcheol, ever the impulsive and quick to anger person he is, doesn’t even register the moment that passes between you and Wonwoo, “Why didn’t you tell me? I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell your best friend! We’ve been through everything together, and I would do anything for you but you were just going to go through all of this, all alone, without me?” 

You only laugh at how he was exactly the same Seungcheol you’d always remembered. Two torturous months had passed and while the time had seemed to trudge on slowly for you, the time feeling like eternities without him, it had flown by for him and he had emerged from the other end practically unscathed; you were dying, and in a way, he was literally killing you with heartbreak but all he could think about was how you could have the audacity to leave him out of your own illness and death. 

Classic Seungcheol. It might have seemed unbearably selfish of him, but this was also part of why you loved him so dearly. He was so innocent, so caught up in his own heart that he barely registered anyone else’s, but it also meant that once he treasured someone, he would do anything, sacrifice anything for them. His one-track mind and heart would never let him be or do anything less; if Seungcheol had to give you the world just so that you might live, he would die trying to get it. 

It was exactly why you had wanted to leave him out of it. You knew that he was too kind, too self-sacrificing to the point of selfishness, too caught up in his own emotions that he would never understand your choice to not have the surgery—to die. 

“Sorry, Cheolie,” you try to smile despite the sob that gets caught in your throat, “I just thought it would be better this way.” 

At your words, he immediately unclenches and finally all the anger that wracks his body seems to dissipate from him until all that’s left in his irises is confusion and hurt. "You don’t have to do this. You can just have the surgery,” he coaxes, walking over to your bedside where he takes your hand in his, gently rubbing the skin there with his thumb before gently pressing it to his lips, closing his eyes as he does so. 

“But I can’t, Cheolie, I can’t forget—” you almost slip up and say ‘you’, but you swallow it down and Seungcheol is quick to take the reigns of the conversation again. 

“You can! You can forget that bastard! Whoever he is, he doesn’t deserve you, your love, or your death.” He pleads, tears pricking the edges of his eyes. 

“You don’t know that Seungcheol,” the first time in a long time you’d used his first name, “he doesn’t deserve me, he deserves better, you just don’t know—” 

“I don’t want to know! If he really loved you, he wouldn’t be letting you die here all alone—”

“But I’m not alone!” you try to argue, but Seungcheol isn’t having any of it, he’s too riled up again, too in his pain to let you explain anything to him.

“No, y/n! For fuck’s sake, listen to me! If he can’t love you when you’re fucking willing to die for him, then he’s not gonna love you even after you’re dead! And there’s no use dying just to remember someone who doesn’t love you!” he heaves, “isn’t it better to just be alive not remembering someone who could never love you?”

Everyone stood around you, eyes wide and tensely watching, awaiting your response with bated breath. His words hurt. More than anything, they felt like a death sentence, an indirect confirmation that Seungcheol could never and would never return your feelings. Fighting the marigolds bubbling in your chest threatening to spill out, you can only shake your head, smiling at him as tears finally spill from your eyes.

It takes everything in Jihoon not to punch the lights out of Seungcheol as everyone watches you cry, but Wonwoo’s firm grip on Jihoon’s arm is warning enough that you wouldn’t want them fighting with each other. 

“It’s okay,” you finally manage the words, and everyone but Seungcheol knows that the words are more for everyone else in the room, “I know you don’t understand, and I don’t expect you to.

“You’re not meant to; it’s not for you to understand. This is mine.” Seungcheol meets your eyes and in them he sees a finality that he has never seen before, a certainty unmarred by fear or sadness. “So, I don’t care if you’re mad at me, or if you don’t agree. You don’t have to, you just have to be my friend and sit this one out, okay?” 

Your eyes scan through the room, meeting the eyes of all your closest friends, asking for their silent agreement to both keep your secret but also to no longer question your decision. “Just be my friend and sit with me till—” 

“Till the end.” Wonwoo finishes when you’re unable to, voice shaky from overuse and the emotions. 

The night the world ends is the day your heart finally stops. For three days prior you’d been in a medically induced coma, the doctors explaining to Jihoon and all your friends that it would be too much, too painful to keep you awake while your body slowly failed; your lungs slowly filling with blood, fluid and marigolds, its roots constricting the far too weakened organ tighter and tighter until your system would eventually crash from the lack of oxygen. Ultimately suffering from a long and arduous suffocation.

When you go, it isn’t peaceful or serene like the books or the movies often say it is. Your body is a mess of convulsions and painful retching fits. Despite being sedated, you're gasping for air; your body seemingly clawing onto life and fighting to preserve itself despite your heart telling it to let go. As the last of your struggle and life dissipates from your body, you’re surrounded by the same friends who’d kept you company throughout this whole ordeal. 

Till the end, even on the days you could no longer talk, or wake up to even see them, they had stayed. Some talked to you, sometimes telling you stories, reading you your favorite books, and even saying their goodbyes one by one. Even Seungcheol, who despite his bursts of anger and frequent tantrums that had him walking out, always returned to keep his promise and just sit with you. 

That night, there were no marigolds like when Jihoon had first found you, it was not beautiful or immaculate. There was no portrait of you sprawled in a field of bright golden flowers. Instead, there were only bloodied, wilting petals scattered at your bedside and sticking to your skin and robes, the orange barely visible through the blood that stained them. Your frame was the smallest they’d ever seen it and you were completely pale, the only color on you was the blood that had caked and dried at your lips and wherever else it had splattered, along with the mess of withering petals.

When the flatline finally echoes through your tiny ICU room, with 13 cramped bodies, not including the doctors and nurses, no one says anything. Wonwoo is the first to crack, taking your limp hand in his, pressing the lifeless limb to his lips then falling to his knees and finally breaking down completely for the first time. Everyone else follows suit. 

Your distant relatives had settled the arrangements for the funeral, deciding to have it in Seoul where you would be surrounded by all your friends and most beloved ones. They are kind and understanding, despite not having been close with you and they thank everyone who attends graciously. All your friends attend, Seungcheol even brings his girlfriend for moral support and she does just that. You would’ve been happy that he had her shoulder to cry on, Jihoon thinks as he watches them.

The night Seungcheol’s world stops is a week after your passing. Jihoon invites Seungcheol to go out with him and Wonwoo. When he meets the pair at the park, sitting on a bench, all three of them almost laugh at how much of a similar state they’re all in; eyes puffy with dark circles underneath to match, and faces swollen from sleepless nights spent crying. 

“If y/n were here, she’d laugh at how bad we look,” Wonwoo laughs, the first to break the silence, “she’d never let us live it down.”

“I miss her.” Seungchol breathes out the words into a puff of cold exhalation. At the words, Jihoon feels his fists clench, a sudden rage washing over him, but Wonwoo is quick and takes it upon himself to perform the difficult task at hand instead of Jihoon. 

“You should know, Seungcheol,” Wonwoo sadly meets the gaze of his friend, forcing the words and choking down the tears in his throat, “it was you.”

“Y/n didn’t want us to tell you, she was kind that way,” Jihoon runs a hand through his locks, fighting the tears, “but we’re not as kind.”

“We thought you deserved to know.” Wonwoo clarifies, not letting Jihoon’s anger cloud their actual purpose. 

“She was in love with you, she always has been,” Jihoon sighs, recounting the conversation he had with you a few weeks prior to you being comatose. 

“There’s still time, y/n. I know I said I would drop it, I’m sorry, but you can’t blame a guy for trying to save his best friend, right?” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“It’s okay, Hoonie, I understand.” Till the very end, you were kind despite your pain.

“You know why marigolds?” your eyes look to Wonwoo sitting by Jihoon then trail off to the view outside your window. “When I first arrived in Seoul, he was my first friend. I met him in a field of marigolds. I’d fallen and scraped my knee. It was really bad actually, I had to get stitches after. I remember trying so hard not to cry, because I was a big girl and this was the big city and I just felt like there were no room for tears here, y’know?”

You laugh at the memory, “out of nowhere this big kid comes running at me asking if I’m okay. While I tried not to cry, telling him I was okay, he took one look at the gaping wound and all the blood on my skirt and he started crying so loudly.

He was so dramatic that it almost made me forget how much it hurt, and I could laugh even just a little at him. So overly emotional, that boy.” You shake your head. “Anyway, I ask him why he’s crying, and this obviously much older and taller boy bawls at me saying ‘it looks like it hurts, doesn’t it hurt? And you’re not crying so I’ll just cry for you’.”

“He cried so much that his parents eventually found him and me, and brought me to the hospital to get stitches. I’ve been with him ever since. We were so young back then. I’m sure he doesn’t even remember…”

Finally looking back at Jihoon who now sees the fresh tears in your eyes, “but I-I don’t want to forget, Jihoon. I don’t want to forget him or who he helped me become.”

“And I knew, you know?” chuckling mirthlessly, your eyes shift to Wonwoo’s sad eyes as they watch your sadder ones, “I knew he couldn’t feel that way about me, I knew he didn’t love me, but I adored him anyway. There were times I thought, maybe, maybe he’d finally see me...”

 Turning back to Jihoon, you could only shrug, “but we all know how that turned out.” 

“She always loved you, Seungcheol,” Wonwoo interjects, ending Jihoon’s retelling and watching as the older male’s eyes fill with tears.

“But why didn’t she—why couldn’t she just have told me? She could’ve just been honest.” 

“We all know that wasn’t an option,” it’s Jihoon’s turn to interrupt this time, “you were engaged, and she wasn’t going to ever let herself get in the way of that.” 

A silence passes between them at his words. It was true. No matter how Seungcheol looked at it and flipped it around in his head, you were far too selfless to do anything so cruel, and knowing you, the last thing you’d want was to make it any harder on him. You were no angel, but you were a good person, the best he knew, but he also knew you could be selfish to a certain extent. Instead of just going through with the surgery, you suffered painfully till the very end, and all to preserve memories of someone who he now knew didn’t even deserve to be remembered, all because he was too blind and too wrapped up in his own heart to see it, to see you. 

“I love you; I’m waiting for you unbearably.” Wonwoo’s eyes are closed as he whispers the words into the emptiness of the starless night sky. The two males stare at him wordlessly as if waiting for an explanation and after taking his time, letting the moment pass, he does. 

“It was a quote y/n really loved, from a book she recommended to me a while back.” He smiles fondly at the memory, “during her last days, sometimes she’d whisper it in her sleep.”

They sat there in silence for what seemed like hours, wordlessly comforting each other by just being there. As they stayed there, basking in the stillness and calm that seemed to envelope the rest of the universe; your death felt like the world had ended, but here it was, continuing to spin through the vastness of the cold October night sky; blissfully ignorant of your passing. Even in that emptiness, there was comfort and somehow, they could almost feel you; just there, sitting with them till the end. 

Seungcheol is the first to stand to leave, whispering a hoarse thank you to the two before turning to head to his car and driving off, home to his fiancé. Wonwoo and Jihoon don’t say anything more. It’s Jihoon who decides when it’s finally time to leave. He turns to Wonwoo, beckoning to the male with a nod. 

“Let’s go, Woo.” 

“Do you think it will hurt?” Jihoon doesn’t look at him as he drives, but quirks his brow, confused by his question. 

“What, the surgery?” 

It takes a moment before Wonwoo can respond. He’s perfectly calm, looking out the window at the streaks of passing light as he shakes his head, “no. Forgetting.”

The words take Jihoon by surprise, but he doesn’t show it, not wanting to worry him any further. Instead, he gives him a comforting smile, the first hint of sincere softness on his face since you had been admitted to the hospital, and shakes his head. 

“No, I don’t think so. I think it only hurts when you know you’re forgetting. But once you’ve forgotten, then there has to be some relief in that, right? To be able to be a blank slate. A new start, she would have wanted that for you.” 

Wonwoo only nods, closing his eyes as he takes in the younger’s words. 

“Don’t worry, Wonwoo,” Jihoon’s hand is a comforting warmth on his shoulder, “even when you can’t remember her anymore, I’ll remember her for the both of us.”

Fin.

[sonderthroughthestreets]

idk if you’re still taking dialogue prompts, but if you are could you do 127 for sobbe? 🥺❣️

Hi anon! 🥺💕 This one is really cute🥺 here u go and

@dagcutie here u go, too 🥺🥰

127. “You look so cute when you’re half-asleep like this...”

Dialogue prompts!

His alarm went off way too early in the morning.

Sander stirred in bed, his hand aimlessly reaching for his phone on the night stand. He quickly turned it off before it could awaken the boy sleeping peacefully beside him. Looking at Robbe, he sighed. Usually, he was the one to wake up early and start his day, but he’d come to bed late last night and Sander thought that he should get all the sleep he needed.

Pressing a soft kiss to his dark, messy curls, he shifted out of the covers to get ready. As he sat up, he felt a hand lazily glide down his spine, dropping to the sheets with a plop.

“Did I wake you?”

He just heard a grumbling, whining noise from him as he lifted the covers back closer to his face, eyes still closed and drifting. Sander let a slow smile cross his lips. Then, he got up and searched through the room for his clothes. All of them were scattered around the floor from last night, but he found fresh jeans in the closet.

Picking up his sweatpants and shirt from the floor, he smiled even harder at the memories. A hand here, a kiss there, electric sparks no matter how tired they were. And as he put his boxers and jeans on, the belt in them clinking, he thought about how Robbe told him once that he loved to watch him get dressed. He’d said that undressing him was one thing, but seeing him get dressed was something else entirely.

Said something about the casualness of it all.

Shame he wasn’t awake right now, thought Sander.

He finished getting dressed and brushing his teeth, and walked around quietly, looking for his wallet. He was almost completely ready and just as he rummaged through the closet for his leather jacket, he heard a groggy voice float in the air.

“Where are you going?”

He turned to look at Robbe, soft curls astray, barely awake and barely moving in the sheets.

“Got errands to run,” said Sander as he put on his jacket. “Some of them that you’ve given me” he chuckled.

“Hmmm,” Robbe responded sleepily.

Sander turned to survey the room, squinting his eyes and wondering what else he might’ve forgotten. Robbe seemed to sense the slight pause in his steps as he said quietly with his eyes still closed,

“Keys.”

“Right,” Sander muttered as he grabbed them off the dresser. It was quiet in the soft morning light, except for maybe the sounds of him shifting and shuffling through the room. “Do you want something from the bakery when I come back?” he asked, his voice deep and low, almost not wanting it to be too loud in case Robbe wanted to go back to sleep.

“Mm-mmh” Robbe hummed a ‘no’.

Sander let out another low laugh as he leaned over him on the bed, bleached strands falling into his eyes.

“You’re so cute when you’re half-asleep like this...” he smiled, eyes travelling down the curves and shadows of his face, his whole being too tired to move or really talk.

“Am not,” Robbe piped up.

Sander just laughed once more and pressed another loving kiss to his forehead, pulling away before he decided to just stay here and sink into his warmth instead. But he didn’t get far when Robbe suddenly pulled him in for a slow and lazy, all-encompassing kiss. His tongue dragging on his lips was enough to make him practically yield, abandoning all his plans altogether.

“Oh,” he whispered. “You’re awake now.”

“Good observation,” Robbe smirked as he pulled him in for another kiss, the sheets exposing his bare collarbone and the muscles in his arm. It seemed he couldn’t let him go today. Not last night, not today, not ever. His fingers traced his cheekbone keeping him in place, his mouth burning fire in all his nerves. Sander pulled away in anguish, his eyes closed, brows furrowing.

“Robbe,” he breathed. His hand held his wrist that hung low from his face with long, thin fingers still cradling him. Sander inhaled and sighed. “I really have to go.”

But he couldn’t resist when Robbe pulled him in once again, a soft kiss this time, his lips soothing the ache that was now growing in his chest. He pulled away, his sharp nose brushing his temple in the serene silence that washed over them.

“Make sure you come back then.”

[my-writings-and-musings]

hey! so idk if you write platonic relationships but if you do, could you write something about whirl asking someone to be his amica endura? i just. i need more whirl love in my life and GODDAMN i love the way you write him sm gshdjf,,, thank you!! <33

I miiiiggghhht have gone a little overboard on this one and made it more of a short story than an answer... But I hope you like it! Thank you so much for the compliment, I do try my best to write Whirley well!

Whirl doesn't like to let fear boss him around. Ordinarily that's easy enough to accomplish, he's a big bot and threatening his life is a great way to end yours, and any threat he can't kill (for moral or legal reasons) can usually be ignored out of existence. As a result he's had very little to be afraid of these past few millennia, and he's even perfected his reflexes to the point he can quickly judge what reaction is warranted whenever that creeping feeling returns, meaning it never lasts more than a few minutes tops. It's a solid strategy, and the proof is that he's outlived everyone who's ever doubted it. Most of them, anyway. He's been getting sloppy since this whole quest thing.

Or more specifically, since he met you on this quest thing. The quest thing that's becoming less about the quest and more about the real treasure you've all gained along the way, which for once isn't the (many) guns he's found or the (countless) bad guy corpses he's left in the rearview mirrors.

Nope. It's you. The squishiest little air breather his optic has ever beheld, and darn the saps on this crew for rubbing off on him, because he wants to go out of his way to let you know that. Their silly insistence on honesty has made him feel like you need to know what you mean to him, and isn't that just ridiculous?

But if it's so ridiculous why was he scared? Because you could say no, damn it! You'd be silly not to! It was one thing for you to hang out with the ship's resident screw up and part time nutjob, maybe even have a drink with him, and sure you'd actually called him your friend and the two of you had looked death in the eye to insult its cataracts on more than one occasion together... But to officially declare to the crew and the universe you were Amica Endura and that you actually liked him?

You'd be mortified he even thought it was okay to ask, obviously. Then you'd wisely cut all ties and pretend you didn't know him, and he'd be left with... well, not nothing, but not much above nothing either. Worse actually now that he considered it, he'd probably be left with pain. The kind of pain you only got when you lost something, a particular experience he'd spent a very long time trying to ensure he'd never have to endure again, and he'd been doing pretty well until you showed up. But he wasn't mad at you, he was mad at himself, both for having the audacity to grow feelings and then getting soft enough to actually acknowledge them like a sap.

But facing fear was far better than the alternative. If he kept on pretending you were just another chum, that you didn't deserve the title of Amica for what you meant to him, then he'd have guilt. More guilt, to be specific, and he was already fully stocked on that. So... fear it was then. Fear and the inevitable pain that would follow when you did the only sane thing you could.

But hey, what was another mistake in the pile, right?

You'd been in your room by yourself, just relaxing an perusing the wonders of interstellar Wi-Fi, when he'd decided there literally couldn't be a better time. Some bots insisted that a proper ceremony required witnesses, but those bots couldn't judge him if there were no witnesses, now could they? Checkmate, seeing as how the two of you would definitely never speak to each other again after this... His claws had knocked on the door with as little force as he could muster, some part of him hoping you wouldn't hear and he'd have a reason to retreat, but as usual he also had to open his mouth and ruin that plan.

"Hey, Y/N, you uh... you alive in there?"

Approximating a facepalm as best he could without either half of the required components, his spark dropped when you replied with a good natured laugh, probably thinking he was just being his usual self and not making much sense. Which was true, just not in the usual way...

You'd happily opened the door with a command on your data pad, inviting him to come in and relax because you weren't up to anything anyway. Claws clacking together nervously, he'd entered with an unconvincing veneer of calm, far too worried to really pretend otherwise. Long legs carry him with slow steps, and he can't help but survey your room; he's certain this is the last time he'll ever see it. Your tiny belongings looking so ridiculously small in the Cybertronian sized living space, the ladders that have been welded to everything, gosh, is it foggy in here or is that just some emotional turmoil in his optic?

"Whirl? Are you okay?"

Of course not, but thanks for asking is what he wants to say, but a more accurate reply would involve him mentioning how things were actually really okay for a while... Until he'd started messing it all up, a process he'd be finishing up now so you could both move on with your lives.

"Oh... that's a matter of debate." He finally brings himself to say, claws firmly pinched to prevent him from any further tapping. You look more concerned than baffled, which is nice. Somehow you'd always managed to look past what he said to understand what he means. That's something he'll miss, once he finally manages to get this over with. Of course his voicebox is pitching a fit and refusing to cooperate, but it's going to be a simple series of steps once he gets it going. He'll ask you to be Amica, you'll refuse, and then he leaves. It's such a simple plan that even he can't find something to blow up in the process. Not for lack of trying, mind you...

"Is there something you need? You've been a little off lately." You said, putting aside your data pad to move to the edge of the berth. It hadn't escaped your notice that the usually loud mech had been growing quiet around you as of late, his one optic looking almost forlornly in your direction when he thought you were focused elsewhere, and so you sat and let your legs dangle off the berth to let him know you were listening. His antenna twitched backwards like a startled ear on a mammal.

"Me? Well, I'd be inclined to say..." Some half attempt at a joke died before it even could be set up, and he quickly decided the stalling had gone on long enough. If he had to endure one more second of gnawing apprehension he was going to have to destroy something exceptionally expensive to shake off the nerves, and he had just gotten his room the way he liked it. Better to go down with some dignity if he could. "You're spot on, actually. I've been off because I've got something I've gotta get off my chassis, but it's not gonna be fun for either of us. Still needs to be done though, ain't that a shame?"

Any other person on the ship would have been terrified if he'd said that to them. They'd have expected some kind of terrible bodily injury, no doubt, but you knew him better than that. You knew that if he wanted to hurt anyone it would happen as soon as he entered a room, and with something way more intimidating to kick off the fun. Instead your expression was just thoughtful, concerned, and only a little confused. "I... if it upsets you then yeah, but why do you have to do it?"

"Do you know what an Amica is?" He blurted out, the words almost hurting as they came into being. It felt like he had just struck another match, surrounded himself with fuel, and this time there'd be no interruptions.

"Amica?"

"There an echo in here?" He said dryly, unable to help jumping on the chance for an old classic. Apologetically lowering his optics, he released a quick bit of air from his vents in imitation of a cough. "Yeah, that, know what it is?"

"Sure, it's like... best friends, only way deeper, bound for life." You said, recalling it amongst the many Cybertronian terms you'd been learning these past few months. It had obviously had cultural implications and connections you just didn't have the experience to understand, but the importance of the practice had been abundantly clear from the moment you first heard of it. Chief among the things you'd been able to determine was that it carried no less weight than being a Conjunx, it was just a different kind of love.

He clicked his claws together in an imitation of an affirming snap. "That's the one. It's tough to explain to aliens, but that's the basic rundown, and there's a whole ceremony to it and everything. Did you know that?" He appreciated that you only shook your head and looked back to him for an explanation, it made it quite clear you were intent on listening as much as possible. "A bot has to ask the one who's less likely to ask, and they get to say yes or no during the ceremony. I'd imagine by now you've figured out I came here to ask you to be my Amica, start the ceremony and everything, only thing stopping me is I... just don't want to."

It was the first time he'd surprised you in a long time. There had been... well, you'd been fairly certain he was leading up to something else there, and had just been nervous. You had to repeat back what he'd said in a question for clarification. "You don't want to ask me?"

"What? No! Don't put words in the mouth I don't have!" He replied vigorously, taking a step closer to your berth and throwing up his arms in total consternation. Upon seeing your comforting near smile of reasurance, he drops his claws and holds them near his face, a gesture he typically only performs when anxious. Thoughts are beginning to run wild in his head, so he knows he'll have to wrap this up before they sidetrack him, or he'll never get it done. Bless your little fleshy fuel pump for wanting to comfort him, but there just isn't time for that. "What I'm trying to get across here, or say or whatever, is that I want to but I shouldn't..."

"Ah... why shouldn't you? Does me being a human make it... illegal?" You ask, finally getting an inkling as to what's going on. As usual, his burying of the lede means you're far less shocked than you should be now that he's actually getting to the point, but you want to use that to stay calm. Whirl has been a dear friend to you, as protective as could be from the moment he decided he liked you. The least you can do is be what he needs by letting him talk things out in a way that works for him, even if it feels so much easier to cut to the chase; you'd love to be his Amica no matter the hurdles.

"You and I both know that would only make it better. Illegal friendship? Sounds more like an endorsement than a deterrent to me." It's hard for him not to laugh at the very idea. If this was actually against some law? Oh, how very different things would be... Somehow he'd feel okay then, perhaps because this would just be another of his crazy ideas, and not something sentimental and completely irreconcilable with who he was. Previously upright antenna drooped low at the disappointment. "But... no, no such luck. It's not illegal for me to ask you, just stupid, because you're going to say no."

Suddenly so many things made sense, but in the shock of sadness that followed you couldn't help but speak, your own disappointment showing through. "I am?"

"Well of course you are! That little pink glob between your ears is smart enough to know better! If you were most saps, sure, you'd probably say yes because oooh friendship, but the fact that you're sensible enough to say no is exactly why I want to ask!" He replied, sounding emphatic instead of angry. Despite being a master at appearing mad for the sake of self defense, he can't bring himself to appear anything but... sad. Every part of him is wilting from the sadness that's clocking in early. Because you have to say no, that's just how this works, and his resignation to that fact is clear no matter how badly he wishes it wasn't true. "Believe me, I know what smart looks like. I know what sensible looks like. Most people have a terrible deficit of the two, but not... not you. That's what makes you worth asking, and also worth saying no. Weird, huh?"

Your heart is breaking, somewhat for you, but mostly for him. Did he really think he was unworthy of friendship? Of any kind of love? Clearly you were his best friend, but in the fog of self loathing clouding his vision, he's convinced himself that it has to end now that he truly feels he isn't alone. "Whirl..."

Venting in sharply, like a human sucking in a breath to hold off tears, he perks up and gestures a claw back over his shoulder. "Look, I'm just going to save us both some drama and skip to the part where you kick me out. Since I'm nice, I'll even pretend you're big enough to actually do it. I'll throw myself into the hallway and everything, really seal-"

"Whirl." You say softly, knowing that yelling won't help but desperate to keep him from leaving. It works, but he pretends to be interested in the floor, crouching like he's preemptively flinching away from a hit. It's not the first time you've seen him do this. Coming to understand the big bot had been more natural for you than most, but had still taken effort, and in all the trial and error you'd learned he just needed things phrased a little differently. Thus, you decided to give what you'd learned a final trial.

"Can I at least... actually get a chance to say no?"

It was just indirect enough to immediately catch his attention, but his wounded look remained unchanged, like he didn't dare hope.

"Any particular reason why?" He asked, tilting his helm as if you've piqued his interest with a daring and devilish scheme. There's a lot going on behind his optic, but you're unflinching as he levies it back on you, smiling to emphasize you have nothing to hide.

"It's... well, it's not really fair for you to decide something for me, is it? Even if you know what the answer will be, shouldn't I get the chance to make that choice myself in the moment?"

He clacks his claws together to imitate snapping fingers. "Damn it all, you're a clever little fleshy, I'll give you that. Appealing to my peerless sense of justice for self determination to get your way." The mask of neutrality is razor thin, and beneath it he's anything but calm. None of this is going the way he planned. Far from casting him out, you're encouraging him to go through with this, but why? You can't actually plan to say yes, so why all this fuss? It's not in you to set him up, but he can't bring himself to hope he has a chance at the impossible... So he just plays along like it's all a game, albeit a very sad one, and one he intends to play carelessly. "If you... I'll give you the way to say no and the way to say yes, okay? That way you'll... really mean it when you say no."

"I promise I'll mean it." You say, wishing so badly he'd believe you wanted his friendship. It'd be so much easier than coordinating with him to give you a chance to accept his Amica proposal. Yet you know his manner of processing can't be argued with, so instead you just keep going, praying he'll let you have a chance to show how much you care. "But I need to know how it all works."

"Well, I'll say some fancy words, show my spark, all that mushy stuff most folks love." He waves his claws about, as if to brush away the silliness of the ceremony right there. The idea of baring a spark surprises you, but you keep quiet, focused only on getting through to the part he's convinced himself won't happen. Even as he continues his pessimistic prediction is obvious in his tone. "Then, when I've said my piece and pause, you just say "I refuse" and it's all over, we don't have to talk again, I'll leave and..."

If you were close enough you'd have laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but thankfully your silent look of encouragement does the job, and he overlaps his wrists whilst looking away.

"But if you were going to say yes, hypothetically, then after my pause you just go quiet and... put your little digits on mine... Then repeat after me when I say "today, tomorrow and always" to wrap it up. But since that isn't happening, let's just get this over with, eh?"

It's the flattest one of his jokes has ever fallen. For all his skill keeping his feelings reigned in, even he can't prevent a little bit of intimidation slipping through. It's impossible not to be afraid, because he wants so badly to hope, but he knows what happens when he does... Still, he wants to at least get it over with, and he gathers himself just as you give your final encouragement with a smile.

"Lets."

Clearing his vents, it occurs to him that he's never been more self conscious than he is right now, which is an unfortunate feeling to prelude him baring his spark.

The soft glow fills the room as he shifts back his chest plating, revealing the orb of his "soul" as you'd once called it, and he internally admits that your quiet expression of awe gives him the boost he needs to start. "I bid you stand in the glow of my spark... so um, that you may feel the heat of my words and k-know them to be true."

It's arguably one of the only times he's ever stuttered, and while you don't react, he's never felt more foolish. Was it not enough for him to make a spectacle out of himself just by doing this? Did he really have to butcher the whole process too? Feeling dizzy, he forces his voicebox to try and start making words again. He's painfully aware of how ridiculous he looks; one eyed, mangled screw up trying to be sentimental... But darn it all, he made a commitment. Putting his claws beside his spark, he kept going into what he knew would be a bitter end.

"I invite you to receive my light and in doing so become my Amica Endura—from now until forever."

He doesn't realize he's at the end until he runs out of words. The fear and helplessness that follow are akin to the level he'd experience falling off a cliff with no flight to save him, and for an eternity he's left floundering in anticipation of the impact. This is supposed to be it, the moment you turn him away and rightfully go forward in life, better off for having left him. But you're quiet. Your words of dismissal aren't forthcoming, and your soft and somewhat sad little smile doesn't indicate that he should expect them. But why not?! Why won't you say them?! What could you possibly hope to gain by accepting?

You hardly dare to breathe as you wait for him to begin the next phase. The glow of his spark illuminates everything, allowing you to see the fear in every inch of his being, particularly his lone expressive optic. He doesn't want to believe you're saying yes, as much as he treasures you, he just can't believe you'd ever feel the same about him. But you do, and you try to communicate that with every fiber of your being. You want to be friends with him through anything that may come, and you pray that he can see the depth of your conviction in your eyes.

Something like a hiccup shakes his shoulders. You haven't refused him. It's been almost a minute, the light of his spark fluttering as the sheer power of his emotions coursed through it, namely his disbelief that any of this could be real. Something like relief but a million times stronger makes his vents hitch. He's still processing the turn of events when he remembers he has more to say.

"Ah... Y/N... for you... um... for your acceptance..." He croaks, trying to keep an accursed tear from leaving his optic by briefly tilting back his helm. You're similiarly affected, but you let yourself sniffle and shed a few tears as he approaches with his claws out to you. They're big enough that even a semblance of holding hands isn't really possible, but you grab the tip of each and squeeze regardless, knowing the sentiment is still quite clear. You're his friend, and you always will be, through thick and thin. Now he's finally starting to see that too.

He doesn't fully have a grasp on the fact that this is real, but he doesn't care about that as much as he should. You were his Amica Endura, his dearest friend, and you somehow liked him enough that all the baggage was worth it. With one of your tiny hands on each of his clawtips, he finished the ceremony. Each word felt light as a feather when he spoke it. "As you are to me, may I be to you—today, tomorrow, and always."

"Today, tomorrow, and always." You echo, meaning it with everything you are. There's no grand finale, but the emotion in his optic and quivering antenna is more impressive than any supernova. He doesn't seem to want to pull his claws away as he shifts his chest plating back into position, and you're happy to oblige, keeping a solid hold on his claws as if your tiny body is his lifeline.

"You didn't say no." He says as the glow of his spark disappears. It's a tone for a statement but he obviously wants it to be a question, and he only keeps it from being one because he's still too overwhelmed to ask that many yet.

You can't help but sniffle as you try to sound confident. "Of course I didn't."

"We're still friends." He says softly, closing his claws together so incredibly gently around your hands, letting the two of you be a little more connected as he marvels at his luck. Of all the squishies in the galaxy, this trip had led him to you, the one who made him happier than anything. Despite all sense you loved him, and he loves you back, and the two of you would get to keep on adventuring after this. You smile as you repeat your vow to make your dedication clear.

"Today, tomorrow, and always."

Those words strike a tender chord in his still sensitive spark, for you to believe them so confidently you'll repeat them with ease, and he's promoted to react on a whim.

"Can we hug?"

"Hug?"

"Is there an ech-" The rapid fire reflex of a joke fades out in the face of his genuine and unheard of desire for a bit of tender contact. Releasing your hands, he opens his arms to make his point clear, and is delighted when you start nodding even before he's done asking. "Yes, if you don't mind... okay? Okay."

It's more of a hug for you than him, your arms wrapping around his neck as you nuzzle against his helm to show affection, feeling him wrap as much of his gangly frame around you as possible without risking any kind of damage. While this may not be the first time he's initiated something like this, it's one of very few rare occasions, and thus you know this is special. You can feel how badly he wants the comfort through the ease he shows at your touch.

"You want to stay like this for a bit?" You ask gingerly, getting settled so you can stay comfortable for a few minutes cuddled up to him.

"Mhmm." He says softly, admitting to himself that hugs might actually be worth the fuss after all. Tiny hands reassuringly pat his shoulder, encouraging him to stay in place while he basks in this single perfect moment. He hadn't dared to hope you'd still be friends after this, but here you were, your little body holding and comforting him as if he wasn't several times your size. Funny thing, that fate, eh?

"Take your time."

"Y/N?" He whispers softly into the quiet, wanting to say one final thing before taking a few minutes to enjoy your company.

"Hm?"

There's a tiny pause before he holds you close with one final statement.

"Thanks."

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 1)

(Gif credit to @kikuthestrange​)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: As usual, mentions and descriptions of blood, death, torture, injury and people being burnt alive. Mentions or allusions to rape. If there’s anything else I didn’t mention, please let me know. Fair warning that the Reader Character may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but please give her a chance.

A/N: Um, idk. Hope you like this, and again, really sorry if this is OOC. That is one hell of an insecurity I have when I start writing for new characters, but I really hope I’m not messing Ivar or any of the others up.

You are focused on the blending of some herbs to help the pain of some of the warriors, when a round metal shield is dropped at your feet. You raise your eyes from the snake engraved on the old metal to the Saxon, giving away nothing except a small twitch of your mouth.

But you know what that symbol is. It is a mark of the Attics.

“Most of the Greeks are dead,” He states, certainly, viciously. Your eyes fall closed, and you heave a sigh. “And I will personally see that the survivors are hunted down.”

You knew this was going to happen. The Varangians cornered Stithulf into the confine of these walls and yet last night he sent a hunting party, the best of the best within his Arab mercenaries.

You knew he wasn’t going to try and kill Ivar the Boneless or his brothers. No, he was going to take revenge on the people he deemed failed him, the people he deemed owed him a victory.

And it makes the whole ground cave under your feet, the realization that it is done. That the last of the Attics lie bloodied on the unforgiving earth. That their faith in you, their love for you, was their downfall.

Just like Narses’.

“I always knew you Christians were just as bloody and cruel as the worst of us,” You say instead, looking down at the shield again and picking it up with trembling hands, “You slaughtered hundreds of innocents.”

“If you had fought for us…” He starts, but you interrupt him with a glare. Some things don’t change even if you get far from home: all it takes to stop an army, to make a man like Stithulf hesitate, is a heathen witch.

If only their God hadn’t taught him to fear yours, the world would be so different.

“We’d all rather be dead than slaves to a Christian.” You hiss out, curling your fingers over the cold and bloodied metal. And you mean more than this battle, this war not your own that regardless you lost; no, you mean Byzantium, and the home you left behind.

“You could have avoided all of this, Greek.” He insists, the scar that runs from his neck to his uneven sideburn stretching around the smile he offers.

For a moment you imagine letting your hand run a knife deeply through that scar, open it again and see it pour red and victorious blood. Trace with a knife over every scar, so that he only remembers the torment you brought him.

No, that’s wrong. Trying to hide the grimace at your own thoughts, you shake off the shame and stand up. Holding on tightly to the shield, you feel you carry the weight of thousands of Greeks on your hand.

And because you were taught speaking things helped make them real, you promise, “Our Gods live on, and the worship of them is not something blades and blood can smother. Quieten, yes, but never silence.”

“You will die for your pagan ways, you know this, don’t you?” He asks, stopping you for a moment at the…honesty in his voice.

“I do not fear death,” You answer, and when you walk past an open window that looks over the foreign and cold horizon you add, quiet enough that only the Gods may hear you, “I welcome it. Let Hades summon me home.”

“I have reached an agreement with the Vikings,” Stithulf calls out, voice loud and echoing in the halls. You grip the shield tighter. “There will be…negotiations tomorrow.”

Your mouth smiles and your tongue runs with dangerous words before you can stop yourself, “You will sit and talk with the same men you scoured the world trying to kill?”

“I know when I am defeated, Greek. Something you lack.”

You say nothing else, the defeat finally setting over your shoulders and all you can do to keep appearances is to keep walking and pretend the tears are not clogging your view as you walk past unfamiliar halls, on unfamiliar grounds, with the weight of unfamiliar and familiar ghosts over your head.

Spending the rest of the day, almost till the sun sets, taking care of some wounds and fevers, you can almost pretend to yourself that the life you give here, the damage you heal here; can start to make up for all the death you and your mistakes have caused.

You raise your head from your work on the stitching when strange rhythmic sounds reach your ears.

Metal on wood. Dragging sounds. Metal on wood again. Something dragged again.

The door to the barren and almost empty home you are using as a makeshift infirmary opens, and the silhouette of Ivar the Boneless stands on the doorway.

Your heart pounds in your ears, and the warrior with his injured skin under your fingers hisses a breath when your needle pierces deeper than intended into his skin. You mumble an apology in Greek, but keep your eyes on the King.

“You don’t need healing.” You quip quietly in his language, rising to your feet and motioning for the Greek you were helping to remain in his seat.

To be honest, you don’t know why you stand up, why you straighten your back and raise your chin. You can pretend to be as tall as you wish, as strong as you wish, but everyone in this room knows if the Varangian wants you dead you will be so.

“I wanted to talk to you.” The Viking offers, forced nonchalance as he approaches. His legs don’t seem to work normally, and the contraptions around them are like you never saw before. The healer in you notes they look…painful.

He gets close enough you can see his handsome face clearly in the candlelight, but far enough you don’t feel threatened. The King remains standing, straight and proud, by one of the wooden pillars.

His pale eyes, you note in the now clear view the candles provide you, switch to the warrior sitting a few feet behind and then return to you. You resist the urge to play with your fingers.

“Why?” You ask, retrieving with trembling hands one of the linens you will use as bandages for the wound on the Greek warrior’s back.

“I’m…curious.”

“So am I,” You reply, rolling the needle you use for the stitches between your thumb and forefinger as you study the man. “It is not every day that I find myself meeting with a Viking King.”

“So you know who I am.” He states, and you cannot know if he is disappointed, proud, or a mix of the two.

“Of course I do,” You answer without hesitation, “And I also know it is not me who you are supposed to be meeting.”

“I wanted to talk with you, witch.” He insists again, reminding you of a spoiled child, but also showing you that, either for the foreignness or something entirely him, the Varangian is uncertain on how to talk to you.

It almost makes a smile curve at your lips, and your impulsive heart wants you to send the warrior off and talk with this strange man, this…Ivar the Boneless.

“I…am busy,” You answer instead, returning to your stitching. If your hand trembles a little and you cause a little more pain than you intended as you finish up the last of the stitches, no one can blame you. “I must tend to the wounded, Varangian.”

“A smart woman would know better than to deny me.”

“I never claimed to be smart.”

“Are you always this insufferable, woman?” He snaps, anger rises in his voice, making the warrior you are standing behind tense under your fingers as they wrap a bandage over his back and ribs to keep the wound from infection.

But you, past the fear, feel a small smile start to curve at your lips when you find the pale eyes of the Varangian King.

“I try.” You reply with a shrug, but a growl is the only answer you get.

You watch with wide eyes as the Viking unsheathes a small knife from somewhere in his chest and, instead of throwing it like you would expect, he flips it so that he grabs onto the blade instead of the handle.

His fist clenches around it, eliciting a sharp breath from the King and blood that drips between his fingers.

“There,” He grunts, opening his hand and letting the knife clatter unceremoniously to the wooden floor. He returns his piercing pale eyes to you and his mouth almost bares in a snarl, his nose furrows in cold anger, as he speaks, “Now you have to tend to me.”

So the rumors were true, he is actually crazy. Although you doubt a man that can topple Aelle, that can conquer York, is crazy.

No, he is clever. If maybe too angry and arrogant, he is still cunning. That thought alone reminds you to keep your guard up.

A part of your mind begs you to be sensible about this, not to do anything stupid, but you finish wrapping the wound on the warriors back with skilled fingers, and tap his shoulder so that he stands. Ivar the Boneless keeps his eyes on you, defiantly and terrifyingly, as he watches you move. You turn your attention to the Greek and nod as goodbye, “Go, I will be fine.”

The man looks between the Varangian and you, before putting his right fist to his heart, his left arm bent behind him in a goodbye and a sign of respect to you.

“Anassa.” He mutters in farewell, and you watch him go wondering how many days will it take for him to also die because of your mistakes.

And as the door closes behind the Greek, you notice truly how engulfing the darkness and the defenselessness are. The city moves on around you, but all that reaches the small cabin you are in is the faint sounds of a stray horse or farm animal. The Saxons wouldn’t want the heathen witch to be near their soldiers, after all, even in a city that was never theirs with barely any civilians on it.

All that means you are all alone and defenseless, with a Viking known for his cruel and vicious ways. Gritting your teeth and fighting to keep your heartbeat from drumming away in your ears, you turn back to the Varangian and motion for a chair near you.

He doesn’t move. Of course he doesn’t, because no one in this cursed land listens to a damn word you say.

His hand still drips red to the wooden floor, and you pointedly look at it where it rests on his side and back to his face. The King only cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed.

“You speak many tongues,” The Varangian states, not even a question, “Our language, the Saxons’, but I don’t recognize the other one.”

“Greek,” You reply, “I am not from here.”

“I noticed.”

With a shrug, you state, “Probably why you haven’t killed me yet, isn’t it?”

But the Viking doesn’t answer. Instead, he limps towards you, but where there should be -to a sane woman, maybe- a threat, a danger, you only find your heart beating with the same fast pace it did when you were about to cross a dangerous and wild stream by Eleusis’ forests. A hint of fear, a hint of curiosity, and much more than a hint of freedom.

The rage of the stream deafened you, uncertainty beat quickly on your chest…but your bare feet still continued running towards the water.

You keep your eyes on his.

“You are…outspoken, witch. Are all Greeks like you?”

“You should lower your eyes when men are speaking.” He advises with more than a little anger in his tone.

You hear faintly of Sieghild’s mocking scoff, and you stand up from your chair and stalk to Narses in a few strides, keeping your eyes on him. A sick part of you is trying to test him, to dare him into laying hands on you to shut you up.

The lies would come easier if he did.

“I cower before no man, my love.” The endearment drips with poison, and the twitch in his expression tells you he is aware of it.

There’s rustling of armor, and out of the corner of your eye you catch sight of Lysander straightening to his full height, the mantle of the soon-to-be Anax of Sparta set well over his shoulders as he walks calmly towards you.

For a moment of distrust and panic, you think he will take the side that wants to silence you, but your cousin stands next to you, although slightly behind, offering you his support. His hand is comforting on your shoulder.

“You may do things differently in Attica, but in Laconia our women are not slaves,” Lysander promises, voice dripping authority and more than a slight threat, “Descendant of Theseus, aren’t you?” He breathes out a chuckle, “You will have to venture into the Underworld like your ancestor to make a woman of Spartan blood cave.”

You breathe out a laugh, “No.”

“So you are not afraid of me.”

You look into his pale eyes and wonder for a moment. What is there to fear? It is true his fame precedes him, even if you choose to ignore his name, his truth. Rumors of madness, ruthlessness, unpredictability, rage, cruelty; they all are kept safely in your mind, to torment you faintly with exactly the kind of beast you try to dance with.

But you remember the time that mad man in the flimsy boat offered to take you to cross the Aegean, and how the threat of pain and death and cold all hung over you like shadows; and yet the curiosity of what lay in the realm of what if made you still get on that feeble boat. You have a feeling it is the same kind of stubborn and reckless curiosity that makes you offer the King a small smile.

“I learned long ago not to fear any man, Varangian.” You answer, motioning with your hand to his injured one, hoping for response this time.

The Viking’s eyes are defying as they challenge yours, but you refuse to lower your gaze. He sits by you on one of the chairs, movements graceful and confident as he discards the crutch he uses to walk by the table.

After a breath, he offers you his injured hand.

You don’t hesitate, even if a part of you tells you that you should, and take a seat at his side, working instinctively as you start wetting a clean cloth in some water infused with honeysuckle and goldenseal.

Taking his hand and opening the rough fingers to your sight and touch, you clean off the blood and hope silently that you are not the one responsible for Ivar the Boneless getting an infection for a stupid wound on his hand.

“Why are you and your people here, if you are from the Mediterranean?” He asks suddenly, but it doesn’t startle you like it should.

With a deep breath and keeping your eyes on your work, you offer, “The obvious answer would be attacking your city, my King.”

“And retreating.” He points out lowly, not biting into your taunt.

Lifting your eyes to his, you search his pale gaze for a few moments. You offer him sincerity in exchange for his calm, “The Christians were going to surrender, we knew this the moment your army arrived. We had no interest in this war of yours.”

“Then why fight in it?”

“Obvious answer, my King?” You ask around a smirk, and the man’s eyes darken as he leans closer. A finger underneath your chin threatens you as much as a sharp blade could, and you swallow past a dry throat.

“Careful.” He cautions, and his lips curve around a smile as dangerous and poisonous as it is enthralling and tempting.

“Our commander agreed we aided the Saxons in exchange for their army’s help in our homeland. With my-…with the commander dead the Greeks were called to retreat.”

“But not you,” He points out, still uncomfortably close. “You didn’t retreat.”

You wish you had an answer to his unspoken question. But you don’t. You could have run with Galla and the others, you could have forged your own path with Sieghild away from battle, the Gods know you have done so before.

You could have, but still you fell back to the Saxon city as if survival was to be achieved only by acceptance of defeat.

“A lady ought to have her secrets, I’m afraid.” You answer instead, lowering your eyes back to your work. Although you can sense the young Viking wants to demand more, because of course he does, he remains silent.

______

Hi, thank you for reading! I really hope you are liking this so far, and that it isn’t boring lol

Again, thank you so much, and I’d love to hear from you!

[introvert-celeste]

saw ya post and got an instant idea! mayhaps if ya're alright with such an idea to write: vollyball owning a flourist shop after graduating from little homeworld, with maybe some pearl x volly or whoever you like shipping volly with the most. idk this was first thing that came to my mind lol.

So. I got this prompt over a year ago and I'm sorry I haven't responded to this until now, but it's done now! As usually, I tried entirely too hard on this one. I haven't written a ship fic in a long time so it was hard to get back into the zone, but I think it turned out alright. Fic under the cut!

Volley sighed contentedly, basking in the warm, early morning sun. Years ago—millennia, centuries, or even just a few years prior—she could have never guessed that she would find herself in a place like this, a space all her own, a place where she could exist and grow.

It was a modest building in the southeastern quadrant of Little Homeworld, only a few blocks from Tulip and Bluebell’s lovely little home near the center of town. Flowering vines crept along the pale pink walls, softening the appearance of the angular, notably gemlike architecture. An overflowing garden seemed to occupy every inch of space on the small property, almost overflowing with flowers and foliage of various shapes, sizes, and colors. Perched as she was on the second-floor balcony, Volley could see the country unfold before her, sloping gently toward the ocean. It was on a quiet street off the main road, but not so quiet that it became dull. Even now, as the clock tower struck 7 in the morning, there were gems of all kinds emerging from their own lovely little homes, continuing their own journeys.

Volley took a sip of her strawberry tea, feeling silly and sentimental and incredibly grateful. She closed her eye, relishing the moment, the air sweet with the smell of strawberries and a thousand flowers.

The distinct sound of metal against metal rang out in the distance, drawing her attention to the town square. From her vantage, she saw two figures sparring in the midst of a crowd of rapt onlookers, one holding a defensive stance as launched into the most graceful, flawless offense Volley had ever seen.

Well, perhaps that wasn’t entirely true; she’d watched Pearl’s technique plenty of times in past year, ever since she moved to Little Homeworld—they were routine at this point, regular demonstrations for Bismuth’s class—and yet every time was just as exciting as the first. Even now, from so far away, she was gripped by excitement, watching Pearl’s slight figure slashing, flipping, twirling, a combination of dance and combat that was entirely new, admirable, beautiful. Volley sighed dreamily, losing herself in the movements.

And then the flurry ended as soon as it began, as Pearl leapt high into the air and slashed downwards with one final, resounding clash, met with cheers from the gathered crowd. Not for the first time, Volley felt as if she were waking from an odd spell. She spared one last look at the scene below, noticing that Pearl had removed her jacket, her lithe, pale arms glowing sunlight as she showcased the sword—likely freshly forged—to the admiring onlookers.

The heat rose to her face; she quickly looked away, unsure of what to make of these new feelings. Or perhaps she had felt this before, long ago… She shook the thought from her head before it could fully form. She had a busy afternoon ahead of her, no use dwelling on silly ideas like these. Pearl was her friend, and that wouldn’t change. Besides, why would a gem as amazing as her be interested in someone like her.

“Good morning, Volley!”

Volley yelped in surprise, nearly toppling over the edge of the balcony. After a mad scramble, trying not to upset her teacup and the multitude of plant pots crowding the narrow space, she leaned over the railing to address the familiar voice below.

“Oh Pearl!” She cried in a flustered voice. “Good morning! Isn’t it such a lovely day? Simply breathtaking! That’s what the humans say, right? Come in and I’ll be down in a sec!”

She was not one to be easily embarrassed, but there was something about Pearl’s quizzical, mildly amused smirk that caught her completely off guard. Face burning, she hurried inside her apartment, out of sight.

Perhaps it was the fact that they’d hardly spent any time together outside of Little Homeschool in ages, always busy with their own projects, and now Pearl was there outside her door. Indeed, Volley looked around the cluttered room in dismay, all sorts of gaudy oddments and clusters upon clusters of flowers in half-finished arrangements lining every available surface. It was a hobby that was quickly—but not unpleasantly—consuming her idle hours, a hobby she was particularly proud of. Looking at the mess with fresh eyes, however, all she could feel was shame; she knew that Pearl wouldn’t approve.

“There’s no time,” she sighed helplessly, picking her way through the clutter.

There was one thing amid the mess that she was particularly excited to show her, even in her dismay. Gently, she scooped up a small, finished bouquet she’d completed in the early hours of the morning. It was when she felt the most inspired, or perhaps it was the only time of the day when she was particularly pensive. She’d been thinking quite a lot lately, more than she was comfortable with. Clutching the bouquet close to her chest, quelling her rising nerves, she made her way downstairs.

As her reputation as a top-notch gardener and florist spread throughout the colony, the downstairs room quickly transformed into a shop of sorts. An impressive array of arrangements sat clustered around the room, as well as a multitude of potted flowers and succulents too delicate for the outdoor elements. Gems and humans alike were free to stop by and take what they like in return for the little trinkets she so enjoyed, although their enjoyment was enough payment in itself. At this moment, however, she was relieved to find that no one else had wandered in that day, only Pearl, who looked about the room in appreciation.

“Oh Volley, I am so impressed!” she exclaimed. “You’ve really made this space your own. I’m sorry I didn’t visit sooner.”

“It’s nothing much, not much more than a hobby…” Volley shyly ducked away from the compliment in polite deference. “Certainly, compared to what you’ve accomplished. I saw your performance a moment ago and it was absolutely stellar, as always.”

There was a hint of concern behind Pearl’s eyes, as she cast her a gentle smile. “While I’m flattered by the compliment,” she replied, grasping Volley’s shoulders lightly, “my success doesn’t negate yours. I mean, just look at what you’ve done in a few short months!”

Volley blushed deeply, not expecting her sudden warmth. She hid behind her gift, thrusting it between them. “Um, this is for you,” she explained in a small voice. “I-I was going to give them to you later, but…well, now you’re here, so…” she trailed off, watching as Pearl inspected the gift closely; with interest or scrutiny, she couldn’t quite tell. “Um, I thought you might like lilies and hydrangeas, and I added some…some small roses here and there. I hope that’s okay.”

Pearl gazed at her in surprise. “Of course, Volley,” she assured her, casting another fond glance at the cluster of flowers and toying with the satin ribbon. “It’s a beautiful gift. Thank you.” Sensing her unease, she continued, “is everything alight?”

Volley began to speak, but she couldn’t find the words, couldn’t even begin to describe how she felt that the moment. Was she alright? She had everything she could possibly want and a life she had never expected, not in her wildest dreams, and yet it felt as if things were far more complicated than she was prepared for. In truth, she was terrified, which was not an unusual experience in the least for gems adjusting to the new freedoms of Era 3. Of what, however, she could not say.

All she could do was stand there, regarding this gem with whom she shared such a complicated relationship. She knew, without a doubt, that Pearl resented her, or had at first. She knew that she could be frustrating, that she wasn’t incredibly smart or neat or talented. She envied, admired Pearl’s confidence, bravado, and unabashed dominance. All the Pearls who met her wanted even an inkling of what she had, and Volley was no exception. She regarded her creation in Pearl’s capable hands and hated the shame the bubbled up in her, wishing beyond all else that she could boldly claim the pride she had felt of it hours ago.

“I just hope it isn’t too trivial,” she finally stated in a small voice, forcing back her shame. “I-I know it isn’t very impressive, but I’m trying to get better.” She could feel treacherous tears welling in her good eye. This was not how she had wanted this interaction to go at all.

Just then, she felt Pearl pull her into a tight, genuine hug. After a moment, Volley gave in to the embrace, burying her face into Pearl’s shoulder.

“Nonsense,” Pearl finally replied firmly. “I love everything you’ve done. I admire you, Volley.”

I love you. The thought flashed through her mind and caught in her mouth. “I admire you, too,” she revised, reluctantly pulling away from the embrace to smile at her. “I always have.”

[bangtancentricsblog]

jhs/qw: 1

↳ with a war on the horizon, there is only one person who could take the throne when it all came to an end

❒ pairing: jung hoseok x reader

❒ genre: Angst(?) tbh idk

❒ alternative universe: historical, mythology,

❒ rating: PG 15

❒ word count: 3.3k+

warnings/disclosures: rebellions, it’s really more MC x bts than Hoseok but it has the potential to lead to mc x hoseok, greek gods because that is my thing, nothing bad, just some talks of death, nothing graphic i swear

main ml • AO3

The streets are dimly lit, shadows obscuring the tracks that the small group of armed soldiers have left. The air is damp, no doubt the scent of the oncoming rain, but the quiet of the night isn't all that's off putting as one would usually assume when it came to the Kingdom of Dionysia. There are no terrifying screams or wailing moans of the sick and injured, rumors of the rebellion grow louder the longer the royal family does nothing. Though this little band of men know that the rumors are not rumors at all, for they have done much work under the cover of shadows. The group turns a sharp corner leading them to an unmarked door, one that towers over the rest, an information guild, or at least an illegal one according to their sources. They knock their fist against the aged wood, a code to let them know they are friends looking for information or merely a place to rest for the night.

The door swings open slowly an eerie creak accompanies it, on the inside stands a burly man, tough looking but young. His features are pinched as his gaze rakes over the group, even the sole hooded figure among them, especially them for they have hidden their face from his sight. He grunts shooting a look to the side and no sooner is a new man standing before them. His build is different, he’s taller, leaner perhaps, packed with much less muscles but still looks just as strong, not as rugged but strong nonetheless. His gaze is trained on the hooded figure, eyes squinted in the little light provided by the candles. He can make out no features only knows that they are of much smaller build than any of the others in their party.

“The rest of you can come in, but they can’t.” he says with a furrow to his brow.

“They are one of us, we can vouch for them.”

“I don't know them, how can I trust your word.”

“You just can, their identity isn't important right now.”

“Reveal yourself, or leave.” He mutters narrowing his gaze on the hooded figure. The group seem unwilling to leave but it is out of their hands on whether they should reveal the identity of their companion. The man in the door gasps at the sight, beautiful ringlets of hair cascade down their back as the hood comes off, their eyes twinkling in the candlelight. He’s quick to bow his head, in shame or in fear he’s not sure because before him stands the crown princess.

“There’s no need to bow your head, I understand your hesitance, but don’t worry I am not your enemy.”

“I should be punished for my insolence, your highness should not be in a place like this.” He says head still bowed.

“Raise your head, I know you are still wary of my presence but if you will allow it, I shall prove to you that I come only to offer my help.” you smile placing a tentative hand on his shoulder watching as he rises to his full height, he towers over you almost like the titans of old. He says nothing more, instead meeting the gaze of your Major who stands too close for it to be proper.

“C’mon Johnny we have more pressing matters to attend to.” Yoongi says shoulder checking him not unkindly, more playful than anything in the way that men do. He steps aside following the older man further into the building as do the rest of your party. Johnny leads you all to a room in the back, one hidden with a small incantation that both shocks you and soothes you. He must be of elven descent you think following them through the door and finding a room filled with maps of the kingdom Dionysia, it’s split into four sections the North, East, South and West, red chalk has marked areas that have already joined the rebellion. Black chalk circles areas that have yet to be touched that much is obvious at least to you. In the center of it all is the largest map wooden figures sit in many places, most of them are located in the West and South. The East for the most part remains untouched by said wooden figures, a troubling idea for you and the rest of your party as you gather around the table.

“Our men have already taken the western and southern ports, just as you instructed Major Min. The merchants were eager to join our efforts to usurp the king. The North is proving to be the most difficult as the imperialist faction holds more influence in the area surrounding the capital.”

“And the East, what of their ports?” you ask, bringing the attention to you. You can feel the reluctance of the men who stand before you, truly you understand but there is one thing they have yet to understand.

“We have yet to send anyone.” a new man speaks up. His face betrays no emotion, but it’s one you recognize easily. A smirk tilts one side of your lips as you gaze back at him.

“Thank you Lieutenant Kim, it has been a long time has it not?”

“It certainly has, Commander, or would you rather I call you princess?” he says his own lips twitching up in a playful smile, one you relish in just the slightest. The room has gone quiet after your exchange, many of the unknown faces scream shock at the simple revelation. By now you have grown accustomed to such a reaction, for most men would liken you to a fragile bird who should be kept in it’s gilded cage only to be sold to the highest bidder.

“I think it’s about time I formally introduce myself.” you sigh, shooting Taehyung a glare before finally removing your cloak. They are surprised to see that you are not dressed in lace and silk, as one would assume a princess should be, no, you wear the colors of the rebellion. The knight uniform you wear is the same black trousers, and white shirt but the coat which once was black and red has now become white and a soft blue with gold embellishments.

“I am______, first princess of Dionysia, Commander and orchestrator of the rebellion, pleased to make your acquaintance.” you breathe bending at the waist in a bow. Surprisingly the rest of the meeting goes smoothly as you plan your next move.

*

The capital is in mourning some time after you visited the information guild. News of the princesses' untimely death has spread far and wide, the king has made it so that people believe it was the work of the rebellion. An attack on a royal carriage, one that took her life, the tale is well crafted you must say, on both parts. The rebels have played their part well, the king had taken the bait as you had said he would, and you were finally free of his reach, a pawn that no longer sat on his board. Now came the hardest part, the war really was looming on the horizon, your party has grown, and you have all taken refuge in the forest, setting up a camp far away from the capital. Your little group has grown vastly as there are more than 50 knights, healers and even priests helping to aid you in the fight for a new reign.

Currently you are in the main tent, the one used to talk strategy the one only higher ranked knights can enter and a few selected others. There aren’t many in the tent, only yourself, Major Min, Captain Park and a knight you have come to know as Yeonjun. Yeonjun is your shadow and apprentice, he’d once been a mercenary for hire but had joined the rebels when your small group passed through his hometown. His skills are more than ideal, in fact he is naturally gifted so much so you hardly have anything to teach him, yet he insists on learning from you. As it is your efforts in destroying the current ruling monarchy is going smoothly, you aren’t afraid of the imperialist faction, not by a long shot but there is something foreboding about their lack of movement in the last month.

“Yeonjun, take a small squad with you and travel to the capital, we need to know what the nobles are plotting.” you say as you stand over the map, something swirls in the pit of your stomach, something unpleasant. It seems that the time has finally come.

“As you wish, Commander.” he says with a bow exiting the tent, leaving you with Jimin and Yoongi.

“Major Min, I need you to travel to the East, take only the best men. I trust you to standby and await further instructions once you arrive.”

“If I may ask Commancer, what am I looking for?”

“There is someone in the east who you must protect, no matter the cost. Prepare for the ride, come here once you are ready to depart.” He bows leaving you alone with Jimin.

“Captain Park, send word to our men in the south and west, have them slowly cease all shipments of goods to the capital.”

“But Commander what about the commoners, they will starve.” he asks his tone filled with hesitation.

“Make sure all the commoners get their food rations, and carefully evacuate them to the hidden estate that resides in the north-west.”

“I shall do as you say Commander.” he says before turning to leave.

You take a seat after he’s gone, quickly scribbling down the name and location of the person Yoongi will be protecting. The unpleasant feeling from moments ago has yet to subside, it really is unsettling the longer it persists. It settles just the slightest, as Yoongi returns, the stoic look he usually carries is replaced with something softer.

“We are ready to depart, Commander.”

“I can see that, eager are we Major?” you tease playfully.

“Eager to carry out my task and quickly return to your side.” he says, and there’s this soft twinkle in his eyes. You recognize the emotion easily despite not having experienced it yourself, you know that he’s in love with you.

“I pray the goddess grants you safe travels.” your gaze is guarded, as if to keep him out.

“I will return to you safely Commander. I swear it, I will come back to you.” he takes a step forward, he’s standing too close but you don't mind. You cup his cheeks, smiling softly watching the slow blush color his cheeks. He looks almost bashful like this, it’s endearing.

“Save those feelings, for I am not worthy.” you whisper.

“You are.”

“No, keep them safe. Something so precious shouldn’t be wasted on me, one day you will find someone who will feel for you what you think you feel for me but it will be pure.” the words you speak sound cryptic to his ears but he will take them if that is what you wish. If you wish to push his confession away then so be it, but he will not find someone else like you.

“I will await your orders Commander, may the goddess bless you.” he says before leaving the tent. You offer a smile at his back, you know he will meet his one in the east, for the east holds many changes. Jimin announces his entrance, taking note of the way your skin has lost some of its color in the time he has been absent.

“Are you feeling well?” he asks, his concern evident in his tone the longer he stares watching your skin lose more of its color. You offer him a smile, one that doesn’t settle his being, you wave him off saying it’s fatigue and that you’ll be taking your leave. You ask him to call for Seokjin and direct him to your tent, you leave him in the tent alone hoping that he does as you asked.

Seokjin is bursting through your tent, gaze falling to your form easily as you stand near the desk in the back. You don’t look too good, your skin has lost much of its color, he can see the faint sheen of sweat that clings to your hairline. Something is wrong, so terribly wrong but he’s not sure what it could be.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, he watches intently as you open your mouth only to spit up blood. Your knees wobble and you're soon hurtling towards the ground, luckily Seokjin is quick to break your fall. His gaze has grown wide watching as you continue to cough up blood, it stains your hands and your shirt. There’s a water bowl sitting on a table beside your bed as he sits you down dunking the cloth that sits beside it in the bowl and cleaning your face and hands. The shirt you wear is ruined, but he supposes he can get you a clean one. He waits till you’ve cleaned up and changed clothes to ask.

“Have you been taking your medicine? Your symptoms shouldn’t be this severe with the medicine i’ve given you.” he says taking your pulse.

“They hinder my abilities.”

“So what? Do you want to die?”

“I need to be able to use my abilities to their full capacity, especially if we expect to win the oncoming war.”

“And we will, we have neighboring kingdoms support. The knights are loyal and will follow you onto the battlefield. There is the small matter of the man you are hiding in the east. So please take your medicine, our efforts will be for naught if you leave us before your time.”

“My dear friend, it seems you have yet to understand. This vessel is deteriorating, and I’m afraid my end will come sooner than we’d like.”

“What do you mean by vessel, is your body not your own?”

“Do you know the story of how our kingdom came to be?” You ask and the way you speak has always confused Seokjin, it’s almost like a riddle, it’s something that has persisted throughout your life. A trait he cannot say he’s fond of.

“Of course, but that is more fairytale than history.” He answers.

“As the story goes, the goddess Hera allowed for the twin prince and princess to reign over this land if and only if they could conquer it together. Prince Ares, god of War and princess Eris, goddess of Strife were surely set up to fail as their mother did not want to part with them. So she watched over them in wonder as slowly but surely they conquered all, winning the wars that had plagued this land for far too long and so when the final war was won she had no choice but to allow them to rule over the kingdom they had forged and fought for themselves. Loyal followers were given titles of nobility, Ares became king and Eris queen regent until Ares finally took a wife. They ruled together for many years following their victory, until Ares finally married, and Eris just vanished, as if she had never been there at all.”

“That is how it has always been, which is why no one thinks it’s history.”

“But it wasn’t, there is more, in the palace there is a book that tells the full tale. Eris, happy for her brother, did not mind the lack of authority she would hold but Ares would not have it, for she had been the most crucial part in forging this great kingdom. So in return for her years of service gifted her a title of nobility on par with that of the king. She became the sole Arch Duchess of Dionysia, with a vast amount of land in the north west that would be her duchy.”

“We don’t have an Arch Dutchy, at least not one that I know of.”

“Not anymore, I removed all traces of the land and title. Eris became Arch Duchess, and while Ares sired an abundance of children, Eris fell in love with an oracle. She gave birth to a single child, one that gained the power of their father. For many years after, Eris' true descendants gained the power of the oracle, a power that was kept secret hidden from that of the Kings that came after Ares. Like Eris, the children of Ares’ line gained his power, a sign of their divine right to rule, another legend no one truly believes, but one that very much still exists.” you sigh heavily, the air wheezes out of your being and it troubles Seokjin. He’s never seen you look so fragile, not for years.

“Unfortunately, my mother couldn't avoid the gaze of the king. She wed him, knowing she possessed the power of the oracle, and the king remained none the wiser. He only thought he’d married himself a beautiful concubine. The power of Ares never manifested in the king, the same goes for the crown prince, neither of them showed any signs of being worthy to hold Ares’ power. The truth is the king isn’t my father.”

“That cannot be.” Jin gasps at the simple way you’ve uttered such a thing. He’d known of the rumors, the whole kingdom knew, idle gossip spread by the noble women. He never believed them, no one had since your mother had only spent her time in her home and in the palace.

“It is, my mother was already with child when she married the king. There was a man she had loved, one she’d left behind to keep her family safe. Unfortunately the king still destroyed her family, virtually erasing it’s once long and noble bloodline. The line of Eris will end with me, but not before I put the true king on the throne.”

“What are you saying?”

“I hold the power of the oracle, and Eris, but none of those are the reason for my deteriorating body. I may not be the daughter of the current royal bloodline, but the king’s brother, a man he would have me call uncle, was my father. The power of Ares did not manifest in the king and the crown prince because I already held that as well.” Your skin has warmed significantly. It's almost too warm, Jin is growing more and more worried the longer you go without being treated.

“We should treat you, we still need you commander.” he says, tightening his grip on your hands.

“I won’t leave you yet, the goddess awaits me once I cross the threshold, but not yet, my time hasn’t come we still need him.” you whisper slumping forward into his hold, the fever you run is too high he’s afraid that they’ll lose you. He’s begun to chant quietly over you in the hopes to help alleviate the pain if only for a bit. The war is yet to be over and he doesn't know what will come if they were to lose you so soon.

*

Yoongi arrived in the east four days after his departure, the village is small, smaller than even his own before he’d become a knight. He sees no sign of anyone matching the description you had given him, and for once he thinks you might’ve been wrong. It would be the first, though he’s not sure what to make of it if you are. Still he sends the other knights to search for this person, he clicks his tongue directing his horse towards the meadow he sees. He thinks of the description written in your pretty penmanship, golden skin kissed by the sun god Helios himself, dark hair gifted to him by Erebus, blessed with beauty by Aphrodite, strength like that of Hercules, he goes by the name of Hoseok.

In the field he came upon a man, one whose description matched that of the one you’d given and yet there was something that you’d left out. Something much more terrifying than anything he had encountered in all his life. For as Yoongi gazed upon the man named Hoseok only one word came to mind, one that had been buried deep in a fairytale but one he knew on a personal level, for he was just like you, this man was a “Demigod.”

tagging @boymeetsweevil because I’ve been teasing her with this since February 🤭 this one is for you bb🤪

[elfy-elf-imagines]

Used to Be Mine P.II | Finrod

Pairing: Finrod x Human!Reader

Genre: some angst; fluff 

Warnings: implied mention of suicide (very tiny mention)

Requested: Yes, but so far back idk if the original requester is even reading this

Prompt: --

Words: ~3k

It was cold that night. Not the, ‘the stars are out and the wind is gently blowing against me’, but the obnoxious kind where the wind was aggressively smacking against you as your hair blew all over the place. The kind that left bitter kisses all over your skin that would only be remedied with a velvet soft blanket and an even warmer person to snuggle closer with. But you only had a fur lined cloak and the distant memories of a roaring hearth. Perhaps running away in the middle of the night in the dead winter wasn’t a smart decision, but your mind was far too cloudy to make sound choices. 

You’d hurt Finrod, you knew you had. It felt like a barbed arrow had pierced through your chest everytime you wandered too close to civilization, seeing dozens of postings offering mountains of gold to anyone who had information on you. It felt like a thousand tiny blades were piercing your skin when you‘d look at the stars, only to be reminded of Finrod’s eyes that shined like ten thousand stars. Or when the sun's rays would dare be so radiant and bright, nearly enough to blind you, and remind you of the warmth and comfort his smile brought you. Only for that to be ripped away when you were left alone in the cold

There wasn’t a day you didn’t consider turning around. Every night you’d relive your fondest memories with him, feeling his phantom touches that would wrap around you, hearing his voice whisper to you in elvish as you drift off. And every morning, even as you set off further and further away from him you’d mentally prepare a grand and emotional speech to recite to Finrod in hopes of earning his forgiveness. But you didn’t. You didn’t even dare to look behind you most days, because if you did, you knew you’d crack. 

But you weren’t ready to face that yet, instead opting to increase the distance like a coward.

So you stood by the still river, watching the reflection of the stars in the water. Your camp fire rapidly burned behind you, casting everything in a warm glow, but doing little to nothing about the freezing cold. So entranced by your own thoughts, living in a fantasy that was just out of reach, you didn’t hear anything amiss. Until it was too late.

“Y/N.” a voice called from behind you, a voice you’d recognize anywhere. You froze in your place, back stiff as a board. Your heart hammered in your chest, so loud you were sure he could hear it clear as day. You know it’s him, it couldn’t be anyone but him. However there was a shadow of a doubt in the back of your head. That nasty voice that shouted to you he wasn’t really here, that this is just one big hallucination. 

Needing confirmation, you turn your body, your hands that lie limp at your sides shaking like autumn leaves falling from the trees. And for a moment you hope that the little part of your brain was right, prayed that Finrod wasn’t standing before you. You didn’t want to have to face the consequences of your rash actions, to see first hand how much damage you did. Yet there he was, regal and ethereal as ever, however something seemed… off. 

His pale skin that usually glowed with otherworldliness - something that clearly separated him from morals - seemed dim. He was still pale, yes, but not like the pale light that washed over the world when the moon came out or the scintillating glow of the distant stars, but more like the dead. His skin looked sallow and aged, deep set bags surrounding his eyes that looked like her ran a stick of coal under them. But worst of all was his eyes. His sapphire blue eyes that used to glitter like thousands of diamonds were dull and tired and defeated. You always knew what he was feeling or thinking just by looking into his eyes, and now you wish you hadn’t. 

But hidden in the depths of the sea of despair he seemed to be drowning in, there was a slight sparkle to them. A small smile tugs on his lips, but it isn’t filled with the usual radiance he carried himself with, this one looked… exhausted, like it took all his willpower to keep himself together. 

Taking all of this in, your heart stopped and your breath got caught in your throat. Your mouth grew drier than any desert as you watched him. Time seemed to grow still, seconds that used to tick by rapidly halt until it feels like a century before anything changes. You open and close your mouth, unsure of what to say. What could you say? It was written all over his face the effect you had on him when you left. 

“How did you find me here?” The words finally manage to leave your mouth, your voice hoarse and quiet. You continue to watch him, unblinking. 

“You always did like to be near the water. It was not difficult to find you when I began to follow the river,” he said. His voice, normally soothing and musical, the way you often imagined the gods themselves talked like, was rough and scratchy. 

“I did always talk about the water, I suppose,” 

The two of you stood there, silence enveloping you. It was awkward and tense. Once again you felt yourself growing antsy as the guilt crept up inside of you. 

“Why did you--”

“I’m sor--” 

Each of you speak simultaneously, cutting yourselves off upon hearing the other speak. It grew silent once more, the weight of your guilt burying you deeper and deeper into the ground. 

“You go first,” you finally muttered, sure that the noise would be carried off with the ferocious wind. But elves always did have keener ears than the race of Man. 

“Why did you leave?” he said. His words made you flinch, like a dog being scolded by its owner. Not because of any fury or fire in his words, the exact opposite actually. His tone was quiet and gentle, soothing enough to lull you to sleep right then and there. But maybe that’s what hurt most, he wasn’t angry with you, but hurt; hurt that you ran away from him. 

It was stupid, you thought. And shame burned bright red on your face, embarrassed that you wrecked his heart so quickly when you took the easy way out rather than facing the problems head on. At least then, he would’ve known you weren’t happy and had an understanding of why you’d leave. 

“I’m sorry. It just got too much, I guess.” you muttered as your eyes traced the forest floor a dozen times over, anything to keep your gaze from his. 

“What became too much, mime úrin ar elena?” he asked. You couldn’t help but notice the substantial amount of distance between you, like an invisible barrier he refused to pull down. It hurt, like a knife to the gut, but it was understandable. A part of you wished he’d left you to wallow in your guilt and pain forever, but he deserved closure, even if you didn’t.   

“Would it be too vague to say everything? I just-- I’m not made for high court, and this only proves it,” you said, trying to put more vigor into your words. Maybe if you convinced him you were better off in the woods, he’d leave sooner.

“Yes, it would. I’m not understanding you, mime mel” he said. The wind aggressively rushed past you, forcing your hair in front of your face. 

“I’m not made for elven high court Finrod. They chewed me up and then spit me out. I couldn’t stay there, not anymore, who knows what other damage it would’ve done to me.” you said. Invigorated with a rush of courage, you raised your head to meet Finrod’s gaze. You immediately wished you hadn’t. His initial appearance was bad enough to be faced with, but this was worse. His eyes were trained on you, pain on display to any who might glance at them. His lips were downturned and his nose scrunched up ever so slightly. It was the only vaguely human thing he ever did whenever he was confused by something. 

“Who mime mel. What did they do to you?” he exclaimed, his voice raising in volume just a hair. But it was enough to cause a shiver to run up your spine. Finrod hardly ever lost his composure and this is the closest you’ve been to seeing just that. 

“Everyone! They would dance around me like a lion stalking its prey! They mocked me constantly about anything that would come to their minds” you exclaimed, straightening your posture ever so slightly. 

“I wasn’t aware of this,” he muttered, to himself or you? You’re not sure. 

“Of course you weren’t, my love! You always see the best in everyone, blind to the malicious intentions behind their fair faces!” you said, you voice no longer a whisper, it was a roar, a lion’s roar. You were tired. Tired of everything that involved that stupid castle and now here Finrod is, dragging up everything you fought so hard to bury deep in you. It was irrational and wrong for you to be angry, you knew this. But you also knew you were human. 

A human tired of being treated like trash by the Fair Folk. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve--” he began, but you cut him off. 

“And do what? Get together all of the nobility and tell them to stop being mean to your wife? There’s nothing you could’ve done Finrod,” 

“And I suppose just fleeing from your problems is a better solution! To just up and leave with nothing except for a hastily written letter left behind?” he responded. His voice was no longer delicate like glass, but strong like steel. He straightened his back and squinted his eyes, carefully watching you. 

“I did what I had to do! Any moment longer in that castle and I probably would’ve--” you began, swiftly cutting off your sentence, refusing to admit how far you’d spiralled. 

“Death. You were considering death,” not even a second later and the steel left his voice. You couldn’t speak, you didn’t even dare to breathe too loudly, in fear of shattering the careful glass that encased the two of you. So you simply nod your head and clench your jaw. 

“Mime mel--” 

“Please, don’t,” you said, voice thick with emotions. It was taking all your willpower to keep any tears from falling down your face. You couldn’t crack, not now, not with Finrod so close. “I-- can’t. I’m sorry.”

Like a coward, you turned your back and began to run, disregarding your traveling pack and everything else at camp. However you’d only managed to take three steps before you felt a presence behind you. A hand tightly gripped your shoulder, not so tight that it would bruise, but enough for you to know it wasn’t the ghost of a caress caused by the wind. It turned your body, forcing you to face Finrod. He was only two paces away from you, so close you could feel his breath fanning across your face. His eyes that previously were filled with hurt and confusion still looked hurt, but there was a sliver of hope. 

And that’s what made it worse. He still wanted to be with you, for you to come back to the palace and rule by his side despite your careless actions. This only caused you to shake your head again, this time more frantic and desperate than before. 

“Please, we can fix this together. Just, don’t shut me out please. Our time is already so limited, why waste anymore time?” he whispered, his voice sounding like it was right by your ears. As if nature was in tune with Finrod and only him, the ferocious wind calmed down, opting for a gentle sway rather than an aggressive wave of air. 

“I can’t,” you whisper, the ability to stop your tears crumbling with your words. They slowly poured down your face, the liquid reflecting in Finrod’s blue eyes. Your voice was scratchy and rough, like you hadn’t spoken in a thousand years. You would’ve looked away from him too, averted your gaze so you wouldn’t have to see the damage you continue to cause, but his hand stopped you. 

They were soft and smooth, lacking any of the callouses his rigorous weapons training should’ve caused. He delicately cradled your face, as if you yourself were a silmarilli the elves coveted so ardently. His thumb traced your cheekbones and up to your temple, his warm skin a stark contrast to the bitter cold. 

“You can. I’m sorry I didn’t realise how hurt you truly were, but I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to ensure that will never happen again,” he said, the passion and fire in his voice nearly melting the frostbite you could swear was creeping into your toes. 

“How do you know? How can you promise that?” 

“Because I don’t know what else I can do. I need you, by my side. These past months have been proof, not that I needed to be assured of my love for you,” he whispered. You were wavering. You knew it; he knew it; even the stars seemed to know it, as they shined just a bit brighter in that moment. 

“And if I say no?” The question escaped your mouth before you could comprehend it. The nasty voice inside your head rearing its head, spitting at you that this is all some ruse, that he doesn’t love you. The delicate smile that creeped onto his face lowered just the slightest and his eyes dimmed a notch, and you couldn't help but notice the star matching their luminosity. 

“Then I will leave here heart broken. However, I shall not pester you any longer if you truly wish to be free. Just know that you will always have a home at Nargothrond if you ever change your mind,” he said. The words sounded like poison from his mouth, twisting the knife that had been embedded in your gut since he arrived. He leaned forward, pressing a light kiss on your forehead, his lips barely making contact with your skin before pulling away. 

Your heart raced in that moment, aggressively beating against your chest as it screamed how foolish you were. Head pounding and hands shaking, you make a decision in that split second. Finrod only managed one step away before your arms wound around his waist, urging him closer. He faced you, the grief melting from his face and being replaced with hopefulness and joy. The moonlight reflected beautifully off his golden hair and the urge to touch it burned in you. So you did. Removing one hand from his waist, you trailed it up towards his hair and touching any skin along the way. His hair was soft as silk and as fine as gold thread. 

“I suppose I’ll come with. No sense in wasting anymore time,” you said, twirling his hair in between your fingers. A small smile formed on your face, the first genuine smile to grace your face in a long while. Your eyes lit up with glee, small lines forming under your eyes and Finrod’s face perfectly mimicked yours. 

“Ni mel tye mime úrin ar elena” The moon shined just a tiny bit brighter, the stars dancing above the two of you.

“Ni mel tye too mime silme,” the flowing language of the elves felt foreign on your lips, but it was welcomed nonetheless. His smile brightened and then Finrod leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss. It was warm and sweet and everything good in the world, filling you with a euphoric sensation that always followed Finrod like a ghost. You smile into the kiss as the tears continue to slowly stream down your face. 

At some point one of you pulls away, yet you maintain the same distance, neither of you willing to untangle from the other. Finrod pressed his forehead against yours, your noses touching as well. And you stay like that, basking in each other warm presence with big dumb smiles painted on your faces. 

But it was nice, well more than nice, but you couldn’t think of any words that could describe your feelings. 

So nice will have to do for now. 

You weren’t naive, you knew life in high court wouldn’t just magically be better now. But the grin on Finrod’s face and the look in his eyes, a look you surely mimicked, it all seemed worth it. 

Your grin widened and you leaned forward, losing yourself in another kiss. 

                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Translations from Quenya (apologies if this is wrong, I used a translator): 

~ Mime mel: my love

~ Mime úrin ar elena: my sun and stars

~ Ni mel tye mime úrin ar elena: I love you my sun and stars

~ Ni mel tye too mime silme: i love you too my starlight 

                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~

TAGS: If at any point, you no longer want to be tagged, just shoot me a message! :D 

@atenr​ |  @aearonnin​ |  @emiliessketches​ |  @vibratingbones​ | 

[n1sh1n0ya]

hii may i request the pretty setters reaction to their s/o, who is usually quiet, performing like a powerful/badass kpop type dance? thank uuuu

Pretty Setters x shy! s/o who dances? idk i'm bad at naming things

a/n: i don't know the first thing about kpop sorry if that shows in this lol

Kenma Kozume

You and him have a lot in common, and you bond over this quite a lot

Like,, you both have a lot off common interests, you like the things he likes and vice versa, you're both pretty quiet

You’re both pretty and quiet

But if one of you really likes something, they’ll try and get the other into it as well, you got him playing Animal Crossing, he introduced you to apple pie

You basically know that if you like something, he’s gonna like it too

So when he sees you dancing for the first time he's like oh hell no

I am NOT getting dragged into this absolutely not no no no

I feel like out of all of these guys he would be the least surprised to find out that you have another side to you, he has another side to him we just don’t see it in the anime he does I swear

Although he r e f u s e s to join in with you, he definitely enjoys watching from the sidelines ;)

And you only dance in front of him, no one else, he's the only one who knows about your more confident side

Even if he wasn’t as surprised as the other boys on this list, he was still pretty surprised

The bar wasn’t set very high

You wouldn’t see that he’s surprised though, and he wouldn’t tell you, he just smiles to himself, thinking about how proud he is of you

He’ll even look up from his game a little more often if you’re dancing in front of him

Akaashi Keiji

You and your friends often learn kpop dances and post short clips of it online

But you don’t tell anyone about it, you’d be absolutely mortified if anyone you knew found them

Spoilers: You’re about to be absolutely mortified

Out of everyone to see them, Bokuto, your bf’s best friend, and close friend of your own, finds your TikTok and sees ALL you guys’ videos

He totally spam likes ur acc smh

So as soon as you see his name in your notifications, the panic sets in

Ohmygodhesgonnashowakaashinononono

When Bokuto shows him, they’re both kinda in shock

Like, they both thought that they knew you pretty well, but they had NO IDEA that you could or would dance like that

You’re kinda dreading going to school with him the next day, because you know he’s gonna mention it

So when you see him, you brace yourself for him to say something about it, at least to ask you why you didn’t tell him, but he just?? Doesn’t??

You keep looking at him, you can’t tell if he’s not saying anything because he knows that you didn’t want anyone to know about it, or if he genuinely doesn’t know

He notices this, and by the end of the day, when you’re on the millionth glance his way to see if he’s showing any recognition to you, he has to say something

“If you’re worried about me judging you, I think it’s really cool that you can do that”

On the outside, he seems super calm but on the inside he's like

Where did you learn to dance like that? Did you teach yourself? No, there’s no way you taught yourself, so who taught you?

He’s so impressed like?? You have a WHOLE other side to you that he didn’t know about?? You’re so cool??

Sugawara Koushi

He would be your BIGGEST fan

✨ ultimate hypeman ✨

He just loves you so much and anything that makes you happy? Makes him happy too

When he saw you dance for the first time he was really surprised, because, of course you’re super shy, HOW did you change into such a badass like that??

But once he gets over the initial shock of it, he will ALWAYS be cheering you on

He doesn’t really get it, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t appreciate it

If you’re struggling to learn a new routine and are about to give up?? He’s there to hype you tf up

If ppl take the piss and you’re feeling down about it?? He’s there to hype you tf up

Wish i didn’t have to make that point but ppl are mean >:(

he knows you’re the best, and he wants to make sure you know it as well

He won’t join in unless you b e g him, but he’s always happy to give a second opinion and constructive criticism

Once he kinda learns what’s going on, he might even start sending you videos and being like

“You would look so good if you learned this”

You fall in love with him all over again I swear, because he’s taking the time to learn about something you love 🥺🥺

It never fully stops surprising him how you can go from 0 to 100 and then straight back to 0 again within an hour

Like when you’re dancing you look?? So badass?? But when you’re not?? You’re super quiet??

He is l i v i n g for it I tell you that 💅

Tobio Kageyama

You come to him with the idea

He’s tried to teach you volleyball before, so why don’t you teach him something that you enjoy as well?

And then it’ll be a two in one of two of your favourite things; him and dancing

He’s not too keen on the idea at first, but you look so excited, how can he say no

This is the most passionate about something that he’s ever seen you be, he doesn’t wanna let it go to waste

And if you love it, he knows it’ll be great

So at first you gotta demonstrate, because not only is he clueless school-wise, he also has no idea about anything else

He probably doesn’t listen to music at all anyway, so you might have to even explain to him what kpop is lmao 🥴

He’s still a little confused, so you show demonstrate the dance that you wanted him to learn with you

I stg all his thoughts depart

If there was any to begin with that is (probably not)

He’s so a m a z e d

Because?? 1. You can dance like that 2. You look gorgeous when you dance like that 3. Who are you and what have you done with my quiet s/o????

He’s ABSOLUTELY not complaining tho

But,,, when you try to get him to learn,,, ✨no✨

You thought that maybe he would be good at it, because of how graceful he looks on the court, but, maybe you were wrong lmao

Mans has two left feet and NO rhythm and you’re about to give up and crash when he says

“Maybe this isn’t for me, but I’d really enjoy watching you do it again”

He loves how talented you are so much, especially because he’s tried it for himself and knows just how difficult it is

Tooru Oikawa

While he’s at volleyball practice after school, you and your friend meet in an empty classroom so that you can each wait for your bfs to finish their club activities

She’s dating Iwa bcos best friends dating another pair of best friends is the cutest thing to me idk

Because you two know that you’ll be alone, you’re not afraid to go all out practicing the you guys’ favourite dances

You could NEVER do this in front of anyone else, you’d get too embarrassed, but when it’s just you two, and you know that there’s no one around to see, you Go For It™

You two are working super hard on perfecting this one dance that’s been bothering you for weeks

Working so hard that you completely forget the time, and that your bfs will be waiting for y’all

How convenient lmao

So when Oikawa and Iwaizumi come out of the volleyball clubroom and can’t see you two around, they head on over to the classroom that they know you go to while they’re at practice

As they’re coming towards the classroom, they can hear music playing in there, and just poke their heads around the door

At first they’re both in shock, like seeing you, who’s usually so quiet and reserved, going all out on a dance like that??

You two are facing away from them and filming, with your phone propped up on the windowsill, so you don’t notice that they’re watching

Iwa’s pretty happy with staying there and just watching but Oikawa is totally like “ooooh I know this one!!”

So he comes and joins in behind you two

You two are so caught up in your dance that you don’t even see his image on the phone screen in front of you, until you finish dancing and turn around to see your boyfriend, still sweating from vball practice and looking at you in absolute wonder

You try to hide away from him because your boyfriend, who would never expect you to be performing kpop dances in front of a camera in an empty classroom just saw you doing just that and oh GOD that’s embarrassing

He’s like OH HELL NO you are NOT getting away from me now I know you can dance like that COME BACK

Kanji Koganegawa

I feel like he would like to date someone who’s a little more on the quiet side, because he’s super loud and energetic, and he needs someone to balance that out

AND HE’S A TOTAL KPOP STAN FITE ME ON THAT

Him and Oikawa are the biggest kpop stans in the Miyagi Prefecture 💅💅

So I think that he’s gonna be the one to approach you and be like hey we should try this lmao

Like, expecting you to say no, so when you say yes he’s so surprised

You both start learning it separately, so that you’ll be almost done learning it when you see each other

He’s super excited, but then he also knows that you’re quite shy and quiet, so he’s not really expecting you to go all out on this

Oh no he was wrong

When he sees you again for the first time after he suggested it, you both perform as far as you’ve learned to the other, to see how much you have to learn

He goes first, and just imagine him,,,just picture it in your mind 🥺🥺

He’s kinda bad, but a+ for effort

And then it’s your turn

He suddenly panics, because he thinks that it’s quite out of character for you, and he might of accidentally peer pressured you into it lmaoo

You brush him off, and when you start dancing… damn

He’s in shock

If you looked inside his brain right at that moment all you would see is just ????

When he gets over his initial surprise, he kinda realises like,,, that’s hot WHY have i never seen this before

You put him to shame and he knows it

When you’re done he just stares at you

You’re kinda nervous because??he’s not saying anything??

And then he kinda explodes

He’s all like

“WHY did you not tell me you could dance like that that seemed so unlike you??we could have been doing this for months??I didn’t know you could dance like that???what??

Kiss him to shut him up please thank you

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter Five:Sensory Integration 1

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: A Friday full of teasing for Shane ends in a steak dinner with a blue-eyed beefcake. If you don’t finish this chapter hungry for one or the other, if not both, I haven’t done my job! Lol! (For inspo on Sy’s date outfit, think back to that one Men’s Health photoshoot Hen did and just imagine his hair shorter. That’s what I did. lol!) 

Click me to catch up on the story and other stuff by Hannah!

Word Count: 4k (This date got away from me! Lol! And it’s only half over!)

Warnings: Mostly this is utter fluffy fluff, but I’m gonna put the following warnings on, anyway. Language, mature themes, alcohol consumption, borderline food worship (Shane may have a problem, I definitely do! Lol!) Also, pretty much every Sy fic I’ve read says that his given name is Logan, so...should his given name be used henceforth, that’s what I’m going with because it seems the most cannon and I like it and if it’s good enough for Wolverine...

Author’s Note: So, guys, this is crazy. First off, the reaction and love Sy and Shane’s story has been getting has taken me completely off guard and utterly made my day/week. (I’m serious. Every note makes my heart do a happy dance. A like, a reblog, a comment. It all means the world to me. Thank you for your feedback and for sharing this story.) Second, YOUR FEEDBACK MATTERS TO ME! Because initially, idk what I was thinking. I was going to skim over their first date and like…not write it…and I kept getting notes as I worked on further chapters to the tune of “can’t wait for this date!” and I thought…hmm…well, the date must be written! So, here it is, the first half-ish, of Shane and Sy’s first date. I hope it’s all you were expecting…or at least half of all you were expecting! Lol! More to come in part two of Sens Integ! (BTW, fun fact, these chapter titles are all named after treatments that therapists actually use on their patients sometimes! Lol!)

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys @cavillryarchive @summersong69 @titty-teetee @bloodyinspiredfuck @agniavateira @oddsnendsfanfics @omgkatinka@thisismysecretthirstblog

@misslaland @speakerforthedead0@tumblnewby @suavechops

Friday morning. She was up with the sun. And a bit before, really. Today was the day. Her first date with Sy. She’d taken extra care in the shower, less clumsy, thank God! She shaved her legs because she had chosen to wear a knee-length blue dress with a scoop neck and cap sleeves in wrinkle-proof Jersey knit since it would be in her tote bag all day. She was not shaving because she thought anything would happen tonight with Sy. She didn’t think she was ready.

That is, she was ready, but, only physically. Emotionally, mentally, she would need to prepare for him a bit longer before taking him as a lover. She hoped he was on the same page.

He had an appointment in the early afternoon. He greeted her with his warm “Hello, sunshine.” Following it up by telling her how pretty she looked today, causing blush to burn in her cheeks. She’d reciprocated, even though he was in his typical tee and shorts look. It was still true. They got on their usual bikes to warm up for about 15 minutes, and then took to the leg press to try to advance his strengthening.

“I’m really proud of your progress! You wouldn’t have been able to do this much weight two weeks ago!” She encouraged him.

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. Now, we are going to do some drills next. Simple ones, but they aren’t going to be fun for you. I’ve chosen to do them on your last day of the week for a reason. You may be sore. Ice and whatever you take OTC if you must. Ibuprofen or acetaminophen. But try the ice first. It shouldn’t be too bad.”

“Okay.” He conceded, dejected.

“Stretching afterward.” She promised.

“Okay!” He pepped up. She knew he just loved an excuse to have her hands on him.

Later, as he lay on the mat, sweaty from the exertion of the drills, with her up there with him having to use her whole body to leverage the proper stretch out of his hip flexors, she felt the heavy weight of his gaze. She tried to look anywhere but those sapphire eyes below her. They were too vulnerable. She couldn’t handle that right now. Not here.

“Shane?” Dammit, he was gonna make her.

“Hmm?” She looked down at him, smile meeting smile.

“I just…” he couldn’t seem to get out the words. But she thought she understood what he was feeling.

“I know, Sy. I know.” She gently patted his outer thigh where she had been bracing her hand for the stretch, and let his leg back down, while dismounting the mat, as well.

“Well, that’s about the hour. Any questions before I let you go?”

“Are you as excited for tonight as I am?” He asked. She chuckled. She couldn’t imagine him being more excited than she was!

“Yes! Hehe! But I still kinda meant about therapy, Sy.”

“Oh, right. Are you excited to finish up with your therapy patients at therapy today so I can pick you up from the therapy clinic and take you on our date?”

“Just because you say therapy 20 times doesn’t make it about therapy.” She laughed.

“Okay, I do have a question for you, since I’m here.”

“Shoot.” She encouraged.

He stood and held her face, taking it into a kiss so devastatingly and painfully tender, she could not process what to do next. She was leaning toward fainting. But then tackling him onto the mat again seemed an attractive option. She settled for placing her hands on his waist, ready to control the situation as need arose. But after a brief moment of slight deepening, he broke away, still holding her face in his large strong hands.

“Ahem. That’s a good question. Why don’t I have you a reply later this evening?”

“Sounds good to me, sunshine.” He grinned widely, and waved a quiet goodby to her.

She walked to the doorway of the small room to watch him walk out…his gait still uneven from his injury but improving enough that she could tell he once took very…confident strides. She could almost picture it. She sighed, forgetting herself for a moment until Anita came up behind her walking her elderly patient with a gait belt and front wheeled walker.

"Is that a bit of drool on your chin, Shane?" she said quietly, but still startling the younger therapist from her reverie.

"Oh, uh, hey." she checked her chin, absentmindedly, late in getting the joke, and rolled her eyes. "Funny, Nita. Do you need anything?"

"Nope, Gladys and I are just headed to the gym for a few minutes on the NuStep to round out her treatment." Nita grinned at Shane.

"Who was that handsome young man that just left, Shane?" Gladys asked her, as women of her…demographic tended to do.

"He's just one of our patient's Miss Gladys. But I can't tell you his name. It's against the privacy policy." She explained.

"Oh, okay. Well, if I was a few years younger, I'd let ya give him MY name…and my telephone number." she smirked with pride in herself. All three ladies giggled.

"I'm pretty sure he's spoken for, Gladys." Anita broke the news to her randy patient, smirking at her coworker.

"Shame! Well, that's one lucky young lady!" Gladys hobbled on with the walker as Anita cued her not to let the device get too far ahead of her feet. Shane was beet red from the whole interaction. At least she wouldn't have to wear blush tonight.

Her day finally finished, notes done, and final communications sent,  the most important (in her opinion, probably not her employer's) message of them all was next. The text to Sy that he could head toward the clinic to pick her up.

She touched up her eye makeup, applied another coat of mascara, and dabbed on some of her favorite lipstick in a deep red that complimented her skin tone. She also spritzed on a bit of her favorite Armani perfume before slipping on her dress and black ballet flats and sliding on a pair of simple hoop earrings. She'd had her hair pulled up all day in a clip, so it should be pleasantly wavy when she took it down…and with a bit of flipping, shaking out, and finger diffusing, it was.

She looked in the mirror. She was ready.

Was she ready? She examined herself in the full length mirror in the empty locker room at the clinic. The dress and the shoes suddenly seemed all wrong, both together and as individual pieces for the occasion. She looked great, it wasn't that…but…was it right for tonight? Should she cancel? Was she being ridiculous? Clearly she was, as she'd already sent the message telling Sy he could come get her. But the closer she got to being ready to go, the less ready she felt. Those butterflies were suddenly clawing at her esophagus, disrupting the bile in her stomach, and threatening to choke off her air supply. They were no longer pleasantly fluttering. She felt like she had a boot against her windpipe.

She was snapped out of the panic attack when she heard her phone go off. A message from Sy.

Your chariot, m'lady. Should I come in and get ya?

She grinned like a lunatic. How could she have considered calling tonight off?

Nay, m'lord, verily the gates be locked. I shall use the rear exit and meet thee around yonder forsooth.

Wow, you ran with that one. *laughing in tears emoji*

I have that tendency. Lol. *monocle wearing emoji*

She grabbed her bags, walked out the back door, and tossed the one that wasn't her purse into her vehicle, which was parked nearby and walked around to the front. He was standing on the sidewalk near that edge of the building.

The sun was just setting, and the light from it hit him so bewitchingly that it took away her breath. Not in the frightening way of the panic attack she'd just had, but in the nice way, like right before you surface from a deep dive and you know the sweet relief of oxygen is imminent. She assessed his ensemble with approval. Black books, sleek dark blue jeans, and a sapphire v-neck polo that even in the low light of near dusk made his blue eyes dance with vibrant intensity against his fading tan. His hair was starting to grow out ever so slightly, but it was still very close cropped. His beard, she could tell, had been finely groomed, combed, and styled. He looked…well, she'd never looked up the word "handsome" in the dictionary, but she imagined it would describe the image before her quite succinctly. And alternatively, Sy's image could be used as an illustration in the reference book, itself.

The best part, though, was the look on his face when he saw her.

She felt like he'd never properly looked at her, perhaps. Maybe he wasn't expecting a dress, or loose hair, or red lips. Or maybe it was a combo of the whole Date Shane package he was seeing before him. As his eyes beheld her, he almost looked confused. As if she was a stand-in. Or maybe an alien. Some body-snatcher. Only he wasn't frightened. She was having a hard time working out his expression as she'd really never seen it before, and particularly, never aimed in her direction. He said one word.

"Wow." It was reverent. Not a whisper. But barely a decibel above.

Again, her cheeks required no artificial pigmentation.

"Hey. You look…you certainly scrub up good, mister." she giggled nervously, feeling immensely awkward at her inability to properly compliment the chiseled image of Adonis before her. His every muscle hugged to perfection by the fabric covering it. How did you even begin to tell such perfection how perfect it was?

"You…Shane, I don't remember the last time I saw anyone look so beautiful." he frowned, as if trying to recall, then giving up with a smile, and leaning in to kiss her cheek. He lingered a moment to hug her, hold her as the day faded, breathe her in. She did the same. He was freshly showered and wearing cologne, as he often did, but it rarely hit her so solidly as it did tonight. She loved this scent. Woody, but earthy, with notes of bergamot, a kind of musky scent similar to amber, but more masculine, and something spicy that she loved. The combination exploded like an olfactory fireworks display.

The shirt was an unthinkably soft cotton (blended she thought perhaps with kitten, she could not stop touching it.) and the warmth of him radiated into her as his chest rose and fell over the course of his numerous breaths as they stood there holding each other and enjoying this feast for the senses.

"You ready for supper?" he asked, a faint but distinct rumble from his abdomen indicating that he most certainly was.

"Yes." she smiled up at him as he took her hand in his and led her to his truck. A Ford F150, the same sapphire blue as his shirt and his eyes. She was sensing a pattern, here. It wasn't the newest vehicle, but he had taken immaculate care of it. She felt shame for her own treatment of her Explorer, Bessie, which often functioned as storage shed, trash can, and sometimes, hotel, when she felt like a road trip on a shoestring budget. He walked her to the passenger side, opened the door for her, and helped her in, as the truck sat a bit higher than what she was used to.

"So, I have us a table saved at this great steakhouse just down the road. And then, it's supposed to be a nice night, I thought we could take a walk by the lake?"

It sounded perfect to her. Quiet and simple.

"Amazing. As long as your knee is up for a walk?"

"I've got all weekend to rest before getting tortured again." he smirked at her as he pulled the truck out of the parking lot and on the main road toward the interstate. "B'sides, who better to have with me if I start hurtin' than my PT?"

The emphasis he placed on the possessive pronoun, claiming her as HIS PT sent a delighted shiver through her that she blamed on the AC, which he promptly turned down.

He had his Spotify shuffling Kings of Leon at a low volume as they conversed lightly and pleasantly. Since it was an earlier model, even well equipped as it was, it wasn't quite ready for auxiliary or Bluetooth sound, so he'd bought one of those radio receivers that tune into an unused frequency and connect to your phone or iPod. She'd retrofitted her 2003 Ford Explorer in a similar fashion.

They were both caught a bit off guard when "Sex on Fire" came on, and tried valiantly to keep talking. But it was hard to hear anything but those lyrics. Singing of exhibitionism and dangerous sex acts that were definitely moving violations…and simply the sex being on fire. She was thankful, for once, that this song that she'd always found catchy without paying much attention to the actual lyrics, was now fading into the night as they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant.

She remembered to wait for him to get the door for her, even though it had been ages since she'd been on a date or had any kind of romance whatsoever. He helped her down from her perch, giving her a gentlemanly moment to adjust her skirt before taking her hand and leading her into the building.

He opened the door and led her in by that lumbar lordosis that made everyone tremble and swoon. She was no exception just because she knew that part of your back was not actually called "the small" and she got perturbed when she heard it referred to as such.

"Welcome to Mark's, how can we help you?" the host greeted warmly.

"Reservation for Syverson." Sy piped up. She was used to being the voice in these situations. She was thankful not to have to for once. It was a small thing, but it was still nice.

"Right this way, folks." he grabbed two large menus, a mid sized one, and a small one, and led them to a cozy but still spacious two-top in a quiet corner of the dining area. The warm light was low and ambient, and there were real kerosene lamps on the tables, which she loved. It had the rustic ambiance of a cabin with all the refinement of any four+ star restaurant she'd ever been to. Not that she'd been to many.

"Here you are, the table you requested, and your menus. Have a look at them, and Katie will be out soon to answer questions and take your orders."

As he walked away, Sy pulled her chair out for her, and aided her sitting. His gentility was so refreshing to her, because it was so sincere and kind, and in no way oppressive or domineering, as some men seemed to use such gestures. Wielding them like a club rather than a feather. She was just used to seeing a certain side of him, teasing and silly as he was in therapy that this side of Captain Syverson, or as she may end up calling him one day, Logan, his given first name, if it pleased him, had taken her off guard.

"Nice place." she approved, looking around at he exposed beams of the ceiling and the iron and copper chandeliers and light fixtures on the wall. She also noticed quite curiously a copy of American Gothic by Grant Wood on one wall and The Kiss by Gustav Klimt on another. Such different styles to be displayed in one room. She really liked it though.

"It's one of my favorites. I try to come in every couple weeks or so." The fact that he liked steak on the regular was definitely a point in his favor. She loved it but rarely went out for it on her own. Eating out alone wasn't so bad, but it was hard to enjoy a steak dinner by one's self.

"What's your favorite cut?"

"Oh, I've tried most of them, and you can't go wrong." He assured her.

They had a crazy selection. Ribeyes, filets, sirloins, prime rib, all seasoned, smoked, topped and wrapped in every way you could imagine…it was like staring at the Netflix menu of steak. And much like she tended to do with Netflix, she relied on a classic favorite. After all, who goes for an obscure choice their first time at a new steak house?

"I'm keeping it simple and going for their prime rib and a baked potato."

"Ah, that's a perfect choice. We're getting some of their lobster mac and cheese to start, though. Unless you're allergic or something?" he added the disclaimer when he saw her eyes widen.

"Not at all, that sounds…"she was thinking "sexual," but decided instead on "heavenly."

Soon, Katie, a peppy, slender young redhead in black jeans she'd been poured into and a white T-shirt she had outgrown some time ago, descended upon their table with gusto.

"Howdy, I'm Katie and I get to take care of you fine folks this evening. What drinks and appetizers can I start y'all off with?"

Sy looked at Shane to prompt her to start.

"Sweet tea?" she half stated, half inquired. Katie nodded and jotted.

"Sure thing! Sir?" she thought her eyes sparkled when she looked at Sy…she couldn't blame her. But…she thought she could take her if she tried anything. She was certain there was a very sharp knife in the black napkin set-up at her right hand.

"Same for me, Katie. And we are also gonna need an order of your lobster mac to start and a bottle of your house cab."

"Fantastic. I'll be right back with the teas and wine after I put in for the lobster mac for ya, and then I'll take your meal order." she smiled brightly. Sy looked at Shane, though, as he replied "Wonderful."

~~~~~~~

Her instincts about the lobster mac and cheese had been spot on. She couldn’t contain her yummy noises of enjoyment which amused Sy to no end. She couldn’t imagine the steak any better.

About that, she had been completely wrong. It was so succulent, tender, and flavorful, she debated on whether or not the provided au jus and horseradish were even needed. They were also too good to resist, though.

Her potato, twice baked to the perfect tenderness had a salt brined skin, and a garlicky butter that just sung with the sour cream and chives. She was in food heaven, and even if that meant she was dead, it was fine.

He’d ordered the same entrée as she had, but took his baked potato…a bit differently.

“You don’t like sour cream?” She asked, nonplussed.

“Nah, I mean, I can eat it, but…it feels weird in my mouth. I prefer the au jus and butter, instead. It’s much more tasty.” He said, waggling his eyebrows.

“I guess I’ll take your word for it.” She laughed.

“You’re welcome to try mine when I get it all doctored you how I like it!”

She did, right from his fork. And he was right about it being so flavorful, but she preferred the mild, creamier texture of her own side with the savory notes of her steak.

They ate and enjoyed each other’s company and conversation.

“Ya know, Sy, I totally had you pegged as a beer man, instead of a wine guy.” She said, as she brought her own glass of the deep red liquid to her mouth and nose, inhaling the bouquet before she took her sip.

“Normally, you’d be right. With a burger, pizza, sometimes tacos or what not, definitely. But I can’t do beer with steak. It’s gotta be wine. Red. And full-bodied.” He held her gaze as he drank from his own glass. Why did he have to look at her like that when he said those kinds of words? Her cheeks were warm from more than the booze.

For desert, they shared a decadent marbled brownie/blondie a la mode. He’d had the idea to slide his chair so he was sharing a corner of the table with her, rather than looking across it at her. Purely so they didn’t have to keep sliding the dessert…not so their knees would brush against one another now and then, or so they could feel the heat radiating from one another’s bodies…but actually, exactly for those reasons.

“Last bite is to you, Sy.” She set her fork down, full to bursting.

“Are you kiddin’? My mama’d tan my hide if she knew I took the last bite from my date.”

“You’re being gallant, actually! Rescuing me from a certain belly ache.” She patted her small but slightly rounded tummy. She did like her food, and was no gym rat, after all. He didn't seemed to mind. Yet.

“How 'bout we share the last bite?” He suggested.

“Technically that’s not physically possible. Becau…”

He interrupted what was going to be an intellectual explanation of why no matter how small you cut up a bite, the remaining bit was still technically one bite, and couldn’t be shared.

“No. Shh. I know you’re smart. You got nothin’ to prove here. I’m gonna cut what’s left in half until I get a bite you’re willing to take. Okay?” She nodded.

He only had to take the fork to it twice before she conceded, also letting him feed her, feigning paralysis from the food coma. She held the fork tightly between her lips, making him work to pull it from her mouth. She looked innocent, but she was an intentional little shit.

“You're so cute when you eat.”

“Said no one ever!” She held her hand over her face.

“You are, though. You enjoy the food. Experience it. It’s like you’re…getting a story from it, or something. Like it’s…almost like it’s entertaining you, I don’t know. It’s just…beautiful.” He leaned his elbow onto the table, supporting his head in his hand as he looked at her.

"Well, sometimes I think I like food a little TOO much for my own good." she lamented, reaching for the cabernet only to have it snatched by her date. He uncorked it and dispensed a generous pour for her, and topped off his own glass, killing the bottle.

"No such thing. Like I said about the wine, full bodied is the way to go. Nothin' wrong with a little cushion." he winked at her. She could not resist finishing a rhyme she'd always heard about the desirability of curvy girls…for the pushin,' and hoped the flush in her cheeks from the wine was enough to disguise the deepening color from the current blush she was feeling thinking of Sy…pushin' her cushions…but something tipped him off to her distraction.

"What's on yer mind, sunshine?"

"I'm wondering if you're prepared to carry me on this walk we're planning, actually." It was possible to think more than one thing, after all. "I don't know how I'll ever even walk again."

"Ah, give it fifteen minutes. Finish up your sweet tea, and by the time we're done with our walk, you'll want an ice cream cone."

"Ha, doubtful." But she was ashamed to admit, ice cream already didn't sound bad. Vanilla…maybe pistachio….no, coffee! In a waffle cone…with fudge drizzle…and almonds…maybe she had a problem.

"You ready to go?" he asked.

She nodded. He flagged down Katie and gave her cash, and what one might call a benevolent tip. They left the warm steakhouse, and entered the breezy late summer evening, the humid air seeming thick with promises.

Up Next: Chapter Six-Sensory Integration 2

[suntrastar]

abstract: chapter 1

chapter 2!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word count: 7k (i am insane i know this!! you can also find this fic on ao3 !!)

Author’s note: hello! attempting to upload a fic on here for the first time ever! do i understand this website’s format. perhaps not. but am i going to try? perhaps yes! anyways hope you all like it :) likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!!! umm idk how this works if you wanna follow me you can?? do follows exist on tumblr dot com i think they do. hope they do. love you all. this is a long chapter buckle up (BUCKle up lmao i am not funny)!! enjoy ;o

“Hey, can you come look at this?”

You teach three classes a week- Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. The latter two are enjoyable in their own right, but Mondays are definitely your favorite. Instead of teaching kids, who are funny and creative but so messy, and so loud, you get to teach adults. People your own age or usually older, putting you in a position of authority, valuing your opinion, wanting you to come look at things.

It’s a delightful power trip.

You turn away from the window to see who’s speaking.

It’s Steve.

Of course it’s Steve, your star student, staring at you with a worn, weary intensity, wiping a paintbrush on a paper towel. He’s already pushed his sheet of paper across the table, bumpy with water and watercolor paint, cream-colored edges starting to curl. He leans away from it, reclining in a seat that’s adult-sized but dwarfed by his frame, looking so forlorn, like the paper just abandoned him, moved to the opposite side of the table by itself.

You stifle a laugh.

“Sure,” you say, and make your way over to his table.

Steve fidgets in his seat as you look at his painting. You try to keep your jaw in check.

It drops anyway.

As always, it’s beautiful. He’s painted a sky, swirling with purples and pinks, and careful clouds, flickering in and out between layers of paint, elegant and pale yellow-orange. And the sun- it’s off-center, and you’re sure it was unintentional, but that adds to the effect, because it’s hot red, and dazzling, and slowly seeping into the still-wet sky. Tendrils of red like real sunbeams, pushing through the clouds like a real sunset.

You don’t know why Steve even takes this class. Half the time, you feel like he should be the one teaching.

“It’s gorgeous,” you say eventually, once your words come back to you. “I love how you painted the sun- the red, oh my god. You’re seriously a natural.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and you push the paper back towards him. He looks down at it, still tense, brow furrowed, and you almost laugh again, until he looks back up at you. “I wanted to know what you thought about it.”

Power trip.

“I love it,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, which he hesitantly returns. You might be laying it on a little thick, but Steve still looks distressed, and you genuinely like the guy enough to try to help him.

When he walked in with his friend for the first class, you were floored. People like Steve don’t attend classes like this- classes like this are attended by regular people. Not people that walk like dancers, all grace and light steps, not people that are extraordinarily jacked, with jutting shoulders and rippling muscles, not people that have a weirdly authoritarian air around them, like a politician, but less shrewd.

Still, you welcomed them and made awkward small-talk and tried not to stare at their arms and hoped you came across as a somewhat decent person. It’s your first time teaching adults, you explained, and Steve gave you a smile so sincere and reassured you that you would do great, boosting your confidence to the point where you actually did.

Steve is lovely. He’s passionate about art and has a good eye, a better eye than you, really, and he always tries so hard with whatever he does, and he’s funny in a dorky way, and completely unaware of it. He always wears a baseball hat and tucks his shirts into his pants and called you ma’am once, and looked so surprised when you burst out laughing and told him to call you by your first name. With him, two classes have flown by, and now, during the third, he’s warmed up to you enough to talk to you like a friend.

The friend he brings with him, though?

A total douchebag.

The night to Steve’s day, the rain to his sunshine. It’s obvious that Steve brings him along as some sort of moral support, to make himself look less out of place, which is fine, except the guy always treats you like you’ve perpetually offended him.

And maybe you have, maybe one time you did something that’s worthy of his eternal dislike, but you wouldn’t know what it is, because he’s never brought it up, because he barely fucking talks.

You don’t think he’s a naturally quiet guy. He definitely looks like he has a lot to say, but no matter what, he only ever talks in single-syllable bursts, quiet enough that half the time you miss what he’s saying.

He doesn’t ignore you, either- he listens to everything you say and lets his judgement flicker over his face- which is way worse. A glare is a slight misstep, a shake of his head means that you’ve just said something that he finds stupid, a scowl is a catastrophe.

You don’t even know his name. He’s never introduced himself, and always writes his name in a shaky, illegible scrawl on the sign-in sheet, and by now you don’t care enough to look it up.

Still, you’re nice to him, polite. It’s okay if he doesn’t like you. You don’t need to be liked- being noticed is enough.

You shift away from Steve to his friend, sitting next to him at the table. He’s staring at you in a way that you can only describe as violent, and you flinch, and then plaster your smile back on.

“How’s it going?” You ask, expecting no response, stealing a glance at his paper. He’s painted the entire sheet a watered-down blue, and you want to congratulate him, for actually participating this time, but you don’t say anything. “The watercolors working out for you?”

Your heart goes out to the poor paintbrush in his hand. It’s barely been used, is steadily dripping water, and is being throttled in his gloved grip. He always wears one glove- it’s weird, but you’re not going to pry.

He catches you looking and a whole myriad of emotion plays over his face; irritation and shame, a creased brow and a scowl. You have the feeling that you’ve taken a massive overstep, even though you haven’t said anything else, even though you’re not looking at his hand anymore, just at him.

His hair hangs over his eyes, glossy and carelessly wavy, which you would find pretty, maybe, if he wasn’t looking at you the way he is. Like you’ve just done something terrible.

“Sure,” he says, and that’s it.

Even when you turn away, he’s glaring.

You hate it, so you pretend it’s not happening.

Steve gives you a sympathetic glance before you head back. You wave it off.

“Shonna,” you call, to the fiftysomething woman hunched over her painting a few tables down, “how’re the flowers looking?”

***

Thirty minutes before your fourth Monday class starts, you arrive at the studio to find Rina washing paintbrushes in the sink.

“Hey,” you call.

She turns to you and gives you a surprised grin. “Oh, hey! You’re here early- come help with these brushes.”

You set your bag on the counter by the wall and join her at the sink. You’ve known Rina for ages- ever since you were roommates in college. The class before yours is taught before, some advanced painting thing that she is extremely overqualified to teach.

She’s kind of famous. And kind of self-absorbed, and a little bit pretentious, but maybe that’s just what happens when you’re as successful in your field as she is. No matter what it is, you can’t complain- she’s the one that helped get you this job in the first place.

“A couple of people in my class like to get here early, so I just try to arrive before them,” you say. She passes you a clean paintbrush. You reach around her and tear off a paper towel from the dispenser. “Did you dye your hair? It looks so pretty.”

“Yes!” She shakes her head, letting her hair sway. Last time you met her, she had dyed it pink. Now it’s mahogany red, straight and sleek and falling just past her shoulders. She looks a little unreal. “How’s your class going? Are the people okay?”

“Yeah, most of them are pretty nice.”

She passes you another paintbrush to dry. You consider bringing up Steve’s friend, but decide against it.

“That’s good- and you’re welcome, by the way. But okay, listen. Do you remember that one guy I told you about a while back, Dustin? So yesterday I was just sitting at home, and then he texted me…”

With the formalities out of the way, she launches into a story about someone you definitely don’t remember. Still, you humor her, listen to what she has to say, chime in at the right parts and say “really?” and “no way!” too many times. The minutes tick by.

When all of the brushes are washed and dried, you take them, since you’re going to be the one using them next, and start setting up for the class. Rina walks away and grabs her stuff from the counter. She lingers by the doorway, door already propped open, aimlessly scrolling through something on her phone, hesitant to leave for a reason you don’t know. Maybe she has more to say- if that’s even, like, possible.

You set the brushes in a container at the center table, and head over to the shelves on the far wall to pull out more supplies. Unfortunately, today’s class is revolving around watercolor again. It’s drudgery, such a boring medium- dull, unsaturated, painstaking when it comes to detail. You bring out a stack of paper, the least-depressing palettes, and then mason jars for holding water.

You’re setting the last jar on the table when Rina shrieks.

It startles you, making your hand slip.

The jar wobbles over the edge of the table and then falls, shattering into cloudy glass pieces at your feet.

“Shit,” you curse, and look over at her. “Rina, what the hell?”

Standing across from her in the doorway, having arrived early for class as usual, are Steve and his friends, two shades more flustered than usual. Rina is gawking at them.

Okay, they’re attractive, but not that attractive.

Not shriek-worthy attractive.

You sigh loudly and carefully step over the glass, making your way over to them. “Hi, Steve,” you say, and he jolts, like a scared cat. He’s blushing, stepping back into the hallway, hands awkwardly dangling at his sides. His friend is staring at Rina like he’s about to murder her, and you’re staring at him like you’re about to ask him to pass you the broom behind the door.

Because you are.

“Sorry about… that. There’s a broom behind the door, could you pass it to me?”

He opens his mouth to say something, and you are desperate to hear him, even if he’s only going to utter a simple yes, but Rina buts in.

“You did not just ask the Winter Soldier to pass you a broom.”

Who?

“Girl, what?”

All three of you turn to her, cornering back into the wall. She looks even more unreal, eyes blown wide, red creeping up her neck, giving her hair a run for its money, still gawking. You resist the urge to reach out and pull her chin back up, to close her mouth.

She alternates between looking at Steve and at…  

“That’s the Winter Soldier,” she says slowly, like she’s trying to convince herself, or you, and then steps closer to Steve, who instinctively takes a step back. He’s fully in the hallway, now. “And you’re Captain America.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. He stays silent, and you feel bad for him, that’s all you can feel, really- you are confused beyond reason, halfway convinced that Rina is losing her shit, still awaiting the broom, still awaiting Steve’s friend’s words, racking your brain for any image of Captain America or the Winter Soldier that you might have- and coming up completely empty.

You don’t watch the news, like, ever.

Little details float back to you. Steve’s dressing sense, his manners, his muscles…

The baseball caps that both of them are always wearing...

His friend’s glove…

Oh, fuck.

“Are you?” You ask dumbly. The question is meant for both of them, but you only look at one of them while speaking. A glare meets you back- a slight misstep.

You can’t even see your feet, in this situation. You’re walking blind.

Steve crosses his arms and looks at you sternly. He doesn’t look angry, but as close as he can get. “Yes,” he says, completely guarded and unfriendly and not lovely at all. “I thought you knew that.”

You are so stupid- how did you not know that?

“I didn’t,” you say, and you don’t sound convincing at all. Not much fazes you, but you are absolutely, positively fazed right now, and starting to spiral out. “I had no idea- I thought you guys could have been, like, bodyguards, or something, not actual Avengers, oh my god. I’m so sorry, shit, thank you for your service?”

You’re going to end it all- this is so embarrassing.

Steve’s mouth twitches. Rina is scarlet-faced. The Winter Soldier, god, looks so tense, like he might shatter, too, into silent, grumpy pieces all over the floor.

“You’re welcome,” Steve says, and marginally relaxes. He stays in the hallway, the Winter Soldier by the door- you should have paid more attention in your tenth grade history class, what is the guy’s name?

Rina peels herself off the wall, and you start to get nervous. There’s a painful silence, with lots of staring, where you’re still trying to coax a few rational thoughts out of your brain, and only coming up with one- Rina needs to leave.  

You try to tell her that with your eyes, with a pointed look, but you’re not great at this whole communication-through-expressions thing, so she doesn’t get the hint, or does and just ignores it.

“So, let me get this straight,” she says, tearing the silence like a plastic seal, voice starting to rise, from wonder to excitement, from painless curiosity to danger, “there’s two Avengers taking your class? And you didn’t even recognize them?”

“Nope,” you say, looking away, at a stain on the wall, at the distant glass shards still unswept away on the floor.

“That’s…”

She trails off before she has the chance to call you stupid, because the Winter Soldier gives her a pointed look of his own. Low brows and dark eyelashes, blazing blue eyes- she has no choice but to listen. Your staring was irritating, but his is intimidating.

She scampers away, mumbling something you can’t catch and brushing against Steve as she leaves.

This whole thing is so unprofessional, but at least you can breathe again-

“Here,” the Winter Soldier says, and a broom handle comes into your view.

Just one word, but you’ll take it with open arms. You take the broom from him, give an unreturned, unfamiliarly sheepish smile and head back to the broken glass on the floor.

The broken glass is swept up and tossed in the trash. You avoid looking at the doorway, focusing on other useless tasks instead. Rearranging the supplies on the table, fiddling with the window blinds, chatting with the rest of the class attendees as they start to file in.

Then the class starts and you’re swept back into your demonstration, talking and teaching and showing off different techniques that can be done with different types of brushes. You only look in their direction once, right after showing off some technique you barely remember from art school with a fan brush- they sit at their table near the back, Steve paying attention as usual, his friend silently reacting, as usual.

So they decided to stay- that’s good. Great, even.

Until the next part of the class starts, when everyone gets to work on their own paintings, when you have to stop talking.

You mill around the room, searching for a conversation to join in on or a comment to make, but find none. Then you take a sheet of paper and hopelessly try to draw- search for a distraction and a spark up of an idea, something, anything, and come up completely empty. It’s just...

How famous are they? Like, A-list celebrity famous? Are they offended that you didn’t recognize them- should you start treating them differently? You don’t keep up with this stuff. You have an impossibly long list of other things to worry about- you don’t have the time to worry about this stuff. The Avengers aren’t something you think about ever, because why should you?

If you opened any newspaper or magazine you would find something about them- a charity gala they attended, some recent threat they neutralized, the latest gossip surrounding their personal lives. But those lives are so far detached from your own that you’ve never bothered to look.

You simply don’t care. You’re not a native New Yorker- it’s not like these people are your hometown heroes, that you grew up idolizing them. They save the world time and time again and society is forever indebted to them and all of that, but what are you supposed to do about it?

And most importantly, what is the Winter Soldier’s fucking name?

Enough of this chaos goes on in your mind to make your head hurt. Fuck it, you decide- you’ll face it. You straighten your shoulders as you stand, trying your best to look purposeful as you walk to their table, like you have reason to go over there. Yeah, they’re strong. Genetically enhanced and all of that, and they’re important: they’re Avengers.

But they’re taking your class.

You slide into the chair across from the Soldier without taking the time to gauge their reactions.

“Do other people here know?” You ask.

Steve startles, eyes widening, and then considers the question while swirling his brush in green paint. He’s working on a landscape today, you think. “Shonna might,” he says, not rudely. “But nobody else.”

So maybe not that famous. Or maybe the people here are just like you and don’t care.

But it still doesn’t make sense. “Then why did you think that I knew?”

“Because you talk a lot,” Steve says, like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“Well, yeah, that’s part of the job-”

Steve cuts you off, and fuck, you hate getting interrupted. But he’s smiling, and you can’t bring yourself to get upset over it. “You talk a lot to us.”

Us?  

More like to him.

You take it in stride, don’t let your confidence slip. You’ve purposely angled your head away, and you know the Winter Soldier is staring at you- you can feel it on your cheek, on your shoulder, on every nerve in your face. You don’t look back at him. This revelation hasn’t made him any less unpleasant.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s just as obvious, “because you’re a nice guy, Steve.”

Steve raises his eyebrows so high that they disappear under the brim of his hat. You smile at him as nicely as you can, sugar-sweet, until he can’t take anymore and drops his gaze back to his painting. You turn back to the nameless man across from you.

Winter Soldier.

“Hi,” you say, only to him, and prop your elbows up on the table, resting your face in your hands. “I love the little pattern you have going on with your painting.”

It’s random splotches of black paint- calling it a pattern is an exaggeration. But you carry on.

“This is probably a bad time to ask, and it’s kind of a dumb question, but, like, what’s your name?”

He just barely raises an eyebrow, allowing for a fraction of surprise, before schooling his expression back into his usual mix of anger and boredom, a casual glare and slight frown. For a moment, you wonder what he looks like when he’s happy.

“You don’t know his name?” Steve is in disbelief, and then he winces, and you think he’s been kicked under the table. Abruptly, you laugh.

It rings out. A few people turn and stare, but you brush it all off with another smile.

He’s still staring. You don’t mind it.

The paintbrush in his hand is suddenly unsteady.

“My name is Bucky,” he says, slowly and loudly enough for you to make out the sound of his voice, for the first time ever.

He is definitely bothered by you asking, his mouth drawn tight, and you can’t even take the time to appreciate how cutesy his name is compared to his demeanor, because oh hell. It’s going to be difficult to keep up this whole dislike thing, if his voice sounds like this, low and rough and gritty like sandpaper, pleasantly grating over you and your skin…

You have to consciously remind yourself to keep on smiling.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Things should feel different, but they don’t. Nobody really reacts- everything resumes as normal. Steve focuses on his panting, adding delicate brushstrokes to the branches of a tree. You linger for a moment, and then get up from the table and flutter off to someone else.

For every class, you wear this kitschy apron, paint-stained, with strings tied in a hasty bow against your back that Bucky always aches to even out. Someone tells you something, and you respond eagerly, fully phased out of the past incident.

He stares until he realizes he’s staring, and then drops his eyes back down to his paper.

Steve wanted to attend this class for a number of reasons- he was bored and wanted something to occupy his time, he wanted to revisit an old hobby, he wanted to learn from you- some hip, emerging artist he’s a fan of, whose work he’s been following for a while now, who is seriously talented, although you have yet to prove it. He wanted to go do something separated from the events of his regular life.

So much wanting. Bucky wants to know why you’re so indifferent.

He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that you didn’t know his name, or that you didn’t flinch or gasp or accuse him of something, or pointedly look at his left arm. Should he be thankful? Steve is clearly thankful, already loosening up, freed of any lasting tension.

Bucky just feels wary. You’re unsettling.

You come back over to their table one more time. The sleeves of your shirt are pushed up, and there’s a smear of something dark on your forearm, ink or paint. On one wrist you’re wearing a  bracelet made of braided leather. On the other you wear a bulky digital watch.

Practical.

“Everything okay?” You ask, as if something not okay could potentially have happened, in your forty-five minute absence.

Steve fixes you with a friendly smile. Bucky can’t ever bring himself to do the same.

“Yep,” Steve says, and you nod your head, clearly relieved.

“Great!” You glance at him for a spare second, and turn away again.

Everyone he knows is so guarded, walls built high and doors barred shut. Except for you, if Bucky can say that he knows you, the perky art instructor, Steve’s favorite artist. You’re confident and flippant, and that should be a bad pairing, but somehow you can carry yourself within it just fine. Always purposeful in the space you occupy, not reacting to the knowledge of his and Steve’s major, momentous identities.

Bucky wonders, idly, as he blots water over what you so generously called a pattern, why you didn’t.

It’s not like he wants you to acknowledge it, wants you to call him a war criminal or a Rusisan spy. He just wants you to-

He doesn’t know.

The class goes on. An older couple sitting a few tables away have caught your attention, chattering on and on about their personal lives.They have a pet cat that their landlord doesn’t know about, and when they retire they want to move to the seaside in Italy, and in May their son is going to graduate high school.

“High school?” You gasp, loud for no reason. “I hated high school.”

Before the class ends, you take your position at the front of the studio, and talk some more. He knows it’s part of your job, but you are excessive.

There’s an art exhibition going on at some museum, and one of the featured artists is an acquaintance of yours, and on Saturday the admission fee is discounted, and if anybody is interested, you have a stack of flyers on the center table. And you hope that everyone has a good week.

You look at Bucky while finishing up your little monologue, giving a half-smile that’s for the whole class, but seemingly only directed at him. He blinks slowly, and when he opens his eyes again, you’re looking somewhere else.

***

“Morning, pal, you ready to go?”

Steve gives him a hopeful smile as he peels an orange.

Bucky’s hair is still wet from his shower, dripping water onto his shirt. It’s early, too early to go anywhere. He doesn’t even know why he’s awake- usually after his wake-of-dawn runs, he falls back asleep, or lies down and just stares at his ceiling, thinking, until he grows restless enough to get up and do something. But today, the restlessness came much sooner, so he got up much sooner, and it might already be a mistake.

He takes a seat at the kitchen island, next to Sam, trying to think of something that Steve might have had planned for today, and coming up completely empty. “Go where?”

Steve looks hurt, for a brief second. “The exhibition at the museum, remember?”

Oh.

That.

“I’m not going to that,” Bucky says, harshly enough for it to be dropped.

Steve does not drop it. “Hey, come on. Just look at it.”

From his back pocket, Steve pulls out a flyer, one of the flyers you had out on Monday, folded up in a neat square- when did Steve pick one of those up? He holds it out, and Bucky, wishing he was asleep again, takes it.

He unfolds it, and the words are written in tiny letters, and the few photos on the paper are in color but too grainy to make out, and it gives him a slight headache, but he pretends to look it over. Sam leans into him to see it, loudly crunching cereal in Bucky’s ear.

“Looks cool, Rogers,” Sam says, and Steve grins, and now Bucky is the bad guy in the situation, for not wanting to go, even though Sam isn’t going either.

Bucky passes the flyer back without reading a single word.

“I’m not going,” he says, again.

But Steve is relentless. He sets the orange peels aside and gives him a look, and Bucky can already feel his resolve starting to crumble, and it’s kind of pathetic, really. Does he not understand that Bucky is already doing as much as he can?

“Why not?”

He picks the easiest answer.

“I don’t want to.”

Steve’s brow furrows as he splits the orange into two, giving half to Bucky. Sam slurps the milk from his cereal bowl.

They’re all blissfully silent.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve says suddenly, almost begging. “I really want to see it.”

“I don’t-” He falters, he’s losing the battle. “How many people are there gonna be?”

Steve lights up. Bucky tries to stay indignant, tries to keep his face twisted in dislike, but it’s difficult with Steve. He’s always so full of optimism, has so much of it that it spills out through the seams, rubs off onto whoever’s closest.

“Not that many,” Steve says, like a promise, shaking his head. “That’s why we should go now.”

“Will she be there?”

Sam perks up.

Steve frowns. “No? Or wait, maybe. It’s a public place- I don’t know. She could be.”

It’s miles off from the answer he wants, but again, for Steve, he’ll take it. Bucky ignores Sam leaning across the counter like an idiot and asking “who’s she?” and eats his orange slices in silence.

***

Huge, bulbous heads, and beady little eyes. The limbs are long and wavy and contorted in the weirdest positions, seas of arms and legs and joints, women twisted over each other in gnarled embraces, a man with his arms twirling over and over again around his own torso. And the colors- a complete eclectic mess of everything- blue, red, yellow, green, purple. Everything.

You walk through the museum floor one, two, three times. The paintings on display are unsettling and ugly, and you’re on the verge of tears.

They’re gorgeous. Pain thrown on a canvas, told through canvas. It’s overwhelming- you’re overwhelmed, and you can’t do anything else about it. The museum just opened and there’s barely any people around- you can wallow in your sadness as much as you want to, for now.

Or maybe you’ll wallow in your frustration, instead.

This… you want to create like this.  

But you don’t have it.  

It being an impossible, nearly unattainable type of pain, or misery or anger or any other emotion so strong and visceral that you could translate it into something like this, something that evokes something else from other people. From an audience.

You might have had something like that once, but that’s all too far behind you now. Forgettable. What you need right now is an idea, a spark of inspiration, a single coherent thought. A confirmation that you aren’t completely lost.

You wander back to a painting in a far corner, all alone in a small alcove. A red woman, with her head nestled in green grass and legs wrapping around the sun, quite literally head over heels for it. Her mouth is wide open, gaping, calling, wailing, maybe. She has a hooked nose and a mole on one of her arms, and her white dress has fallen down to pool on the grass, and her legs are lithe and unshaven, prickly like the grass, just like the yellow spikes of the sun, drawn almost comically.

How do you even- how do you even come up with things like this?

By living an interesting life, probably. Through not being boring.

You stay there for a while. Long enough that more people start to file in, pretentious art students wearing all black, eccentric people with awesome haircuts, tourists. They peer over your shoulders, awkwardly, waiting for you to move. When you don’t, they leave you to be, giving you a rude look or two that you pay no mind to. There’s space on either side of you, if they’re so desperate to see. Sidling up right against you is kind of weird, but you’ll excuse it, for this painting.

Eventually, you realize that you should probably get going.

You’ve been standing so long that your legs are starting to ache, and there’s countless other Saturday errands you have to run- doing your laundry, buying groceries, calling up your mom- boring Saturday things to do.

You leave the red woman, regrettably. The fabric of your sleeve comes back dry when you wipe your eyes, even though you feel fully washed away, feel like you’re floating as you drift over to the elevator.

The doors slide open and a few people file out, and then it’s empty, thankfully. You step inside, press the button for the ground floor, wait for the doors to fully close-

“Wait,” a voice calls.

You’re not rude- you press the button to hold open the door.

When it fully opens, Steve steps inside, followed by Bucky.

You’re still out of it. You don’t even realize who they are, not until the doors have slid shut and the floor jolts as the elevator starts its descent and they’ve been staring at you for a solid five seconds.

“Oh, hi,” you say, after too much silence. You need to get yourself together. “You guys came!”

Put a little pep in your step! And more joy in your voice- nobody wants to listen to someone so drained.

Steve shrugs. “I wanted to see it.”

Bucky just smolders, clearly saying with his silence, “I didn’t.”

“Did you like it?”

Steve considers your question. The elevator stops at another floor and the doors slide open, but there’s nobody waiting to step inside. You wait for Steve to gather his words together, sure that he’s trying to come up with a nice way to voice whatever he’s thinking, which is definitely not nice. There’s no way that he liked the art, not one chance.

“It was… intriguing,” he says, at last. Neither of them are wearing hats today, because the museum doesn’t allow it. Even in this artificial light, his hair shines, golden-blond. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you say, without wasting a second. “The one of the red woman- it’s probably the best thing I’ve seen all year.”

“It’s only January,” Bucky grumbles.

His voice shocks you, sends an ice-cold jolt up your spine that you definitely dislike.

Steve turns to him, peering over your shoulder, surprised and disappointed. The two of them have a silent conversation with their eyes and you stand in the midst of it, waiting for the goosebumps to settle back down, waiting for the chill to go away.

It’s difficult- he clearly doesn’t like you, either- and even if he has his own troubling little backstory, which you don’t care enough about to google, it’s not justified.

But…

It almost makes his aggression... amusing.

“It is January,” you say politely, dismissing him. “Great observation.”

The elevator reaches the ground floor and the doors side open. You exit in step with Steve, with Bucky right on your heels.

You all stand around in the museum lobby, a wide hallway down from the giftshop and a small cafe.

“Are you headed out?” Steve asks. He puts his hands in his pockets, feet planted wide.

Bucky crosses his arms. He’s wearing all black. If it were anyone else, you would make a joke- he could almost pass off as a pretentious art student, if the outlines of his body weren’t so visible through his clothes, all taut muscle and sharp angles. His hair curls over his shoulders, prettier than anything you’ve seen on any girl.

These guys are Avengers, you think, and proceed to push the thought away.

They look so… un-Avenger-y.

“Um.” You press a hand against your forehead, trying to formulate a response. Chores suddenly seem miles away, the last thing you should be doing. You have all of Sunday to complete them, anyway.

“I was going to get something to eat from the cafe first,” you say, nodding over in its direction. “You guys wanna join me?”

You don't know why you look at Bucky when you say it

“Sure!” Steve says, all cheery, still standing alongside you. He smiles and his teeth are pearly white.

Of course his teeth are pearly white. Dentists everywhere are probably cowering, clutching their little metal instruments for dear life.

Then he hesitates, and turns to Bucky. “If you have nothing else to do, I mean.”

Bucky pauses. You and Steve both stare him down.

“They have these raspberry-almond muffins that are to die for,” you say, like it’ll convince him.

He rolls his eyes. Bored and still gorgeous- if only.

“I’m free,” he says, and you don’t know why he looks at you when he says it.

You pay the bored teenager working the cash register with cash. He gives you your change, and when he turns away to prepare your order, you shove half of the bills and all of your coins into the tip jar.

Bucky sits at the farthest table with Steve. His knees can barely fit underneath it, and the tabletop is sticky, and he’s now willingly spending more time here, and with no disguise there is no way that he isn’t going to be recognized by someone, and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t fully booked it yet.

Because…

He doesn’t know.

Maybe because you’re not asking for anything from him, aren’t minding that he’s sullen or unapproachable or anything else- his presence seems to be enough for you, which is bothersome, and at the same time, mildly exciting.

“Are you having fun?” Steve asks, while you smile at the teenager handing you plates of muffins, little glasses of some milky-espresso-coffee drink.

“What do you think?” Bucky asks, while you start your journey back to the table, and Steve opens his mouth to respond, already bothered, and Bucky’s already guilty, but then Steve hops up to help you carry everything back.

You sit down laughing. Steve is laughing, too. The corners of your eyes crease and he can see all of your teeth, and you look at him for a split second, and then turn away before he can get a read on your expression.

He sits in silence, while you and Steve trade jokes and stories and easy banter, talking about art and local politics and all types of things he can’t bring himself to care about, things that Steve is relishing in. You’re witty, apparently, or at least quick enough to get a few quick laughs out of Steve, and Bucky would never say it, he’s barely thinking it, but he appreciates you for it.

And the muffin isn’t quite to die for, but it’s okay.

During a lull in the conversation, you break your attention away from Steve and turn back to Bucky. You look concerned, almost, still smiling but without showing all of your teeth, leaning towards him like you’re about to tell him a secret.

“I never apologized for before,” you say, and Bucky immediately sits up on edge.

Even Steve goes wary, eyes narrowing.

You suddenly give a long, weary sigh, and press a hand against the back of your neck, like whatever you’re about to say is going to be so tedious. “For my friend flipping out when she saw you guys- she’s literally crazy, she’s always doing too much- but on her behalf, I’m sorry.”

The silence following afterwards is deafening.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, after a long moment, while you’re still looking at Bucky- your eyes make his skin itch, and he doesn’t say anything else. “She’s not the worst that we’ve gotten.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, great,” you say, and you slump back in your seat, looking away, back to your half-eaten muffin. You pick off an almond from the top and eat it. “Glad we got that out of the way. I just thought it would be weird if I didn’t say anything.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, so polite, even though you’ve done nothing to deserve his thanks. “Have you known her for a long time?”

“Yes, oh my god,” you say, and readjust yourself in your chair again, accidentally bumping your knee against Bucky’s, but not apologizing for it. He glances underneath the table, at your entire bare knee, visible through a rip in your jeans. “Rina- her name is Rina- was my college roommate for a while.”

“You went to college?” Steve asks.

“I have an art degree,” you say dryly, “which was… an okay decision, I guess. Sometimes I think I should have just dropped out and done, like, stand-up or something.”

You clearly don’t want to discuss it, leaving the last part as some sort of rhetorical joke. Steve takes the hint and nods, already closing the chapter, and you take a sip from your little glass, finally silent. The foam on the top of the drink sticks to your mouth until you lick it off. Bucky replies to it anyway.

“Why stand-up?”

You turn to him so fast that he almost misses you faltering, and give him a dazzling smile. He thinks of your bare knee under the table, and tries not to sweat. “Because I’m funny, Bucky.”

He doesn’t like how his name sounds when you say it. “Tell me a joke.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, and clasp your hands together. Steve is watching, rapt at attention. “Let me think real quick- oh, I have one. Which beverage has a black belt in karate?”

Bucky waits.

You wait, expecting something from him.

It’s Steve that has to say, “I don’t know, which beverage?”

“Fruit punch,” you say, exaggerating the last part, and Bucky just keeps on waiting.

Steve cracks a small smile.

“Let me tell you another,” you say. “What type of phone does a piece of fruit carry?”

Steve takes a few wild guesses. He’s enjoying this, and you are too, both of you feeding off of each other. “A phone-fruit. A fruit-phone. A frone?”

You shake your head. “A blackberry.”

Bucky doesn’t tell you that he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“Tough crowd,” you say, when he doesn’t react. “Don’t worry, I have more. Where do you go on red and stop on green?”

“Where?’ Steve asks, waiting, leaning forward in anticipation.

“When you’re eating a watermelon!”

It is not funny, it’s painfully unfunny, and maybe that’s why you and Steve burst out laughing. Bucky steals a glance at your watch, since he doesn’t wear one of his own. It’s nearing noon- how has so much time passed? Why is he still even here when he doesn’t even like you?

“Why are all of them about fruit?”

You look at him like his question is the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. “What food is the best listener?”

Bucky just sits. All the foam in his little espresso thing has dissolved, having been left untouched. He doesn’t like the taste of coffee- too bitter, and caffeine doesn’t work on him, anyway. Maybe he should drink it, because you paid for it, and because you didn’t make a comment about old-fashioned manners or chivalry when Steve offered to at first, just shrugged and got in line.

He knows that you won’t care.

The drink sits on its own, glass beading with condensation.

“Corn is the best listener,” you say, without waiting for Steve to throw his questions or guesses at you, without waiting for Bucky to spit out another sentence. “Because it’s all ears.”

“That wasn’t funny,” he says, and glares at the spot beside your head.

You nod sympathetically, and he thinks again of the rips in your jeans. “I know. But it was about a vegetable.”

Oh.

You stare at him straight-faced, crossing your arms over your chest. Steve does the same, and then he realizes- the two of you are a bunch of kids, punks, juveniles- mocking his stature, pretending to be serious, somehow not offending him.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says. “You’re…”

He can’t even help it. He looks back at you  and his face works on its own. He gives a single, dry chuckle, but he’s smiling, and dragging his hand over his face, scrubbing it off just as fast, but you still see it, and smile back and gently nudge his knee again underneath the table, and then turn back away again, and he’s still staring at your hair while you take big bite out of your to-die-for raspberry-almond muffin, already back in conversation with Steve.